


The King Maker

by koakuma_tsuri



Category: Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: All kinds of sex, Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Genderswap, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Lady Loki, Loki is The Trickster for a reason
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:21:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 42,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koakuma_tsuri/pseuds/koakuma_tsuri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor Odinson is an agent for A5G - a privatised crime-busting organisation - who meets his match and more in the enigmatic criminal, Loki, when on the trail of Thanos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by the fabulous [ Sphinxofthenile ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sphinxofthenile/profile)
> 
> As is my usual tradition of giving back on my birthday....

Thor sits in a nondescript bar on just another sandy beach on Zakynthos. It boasts ‘the most beautiful sunset in the Mediterranean’ but it looks not all that different to a July evening in Torquay.   The sun still plays in colours upon the water, making it indistinguishable from blue or a closer-to-brown shade of green. Women frolic at the water’s edge, enjoying themselves or trying to capture the attention of men who are settling into their first beers of the evening. Thor watches their silhouettes, nymph-like against the backdrop of the sparkling waves. They remind him of how the barmaid had looked getting dressed that morning against linen curtains.

He smirks as her husband leans over to refill his glass with an amicable smile. The breeze is cool and refreshing, and light enough only to tease his blonde hair and cotton shirt into moving.

Though Thor does not speak much Greek, he feels that the words the barmaid whispers in his ear when her husband is not looking are the type he would want to hear. He just smiles at them and laughs lowly, reaching just subtly to touch her as she makes a spectacle of herself around him. Thor does not actually speak a lot of any language, but knows more than enough to hear words of pleasure in every tongue. He never stays long enough in any country to form any sort of attachment to it that usually leads to such a long-term commitment in learning.

He has only been in Greece a week, busy hunting down money launderers hiding in a place too-focused on their own financial problems than worry about how such things were affecting other countries. Thor himself did not quite understand the ramifications of the scheme – never bothered to – only needing to know that it was affecting the UK and he had been send to stop it. Three magazines of bullets later he found himself enjoying a sojourn on the Ionian Island for as long as it took his agency to locate him. Which, knowing his _contacts_ in the Technology department would not take long.

Sometime into his forth bottle, Thor hears his phone bleep with a new message. Reluctantly, he digs it out from the pocket of his shorts and finds the very thing he had been waiting for. Sif, his friend and self-assigned shepherd, writes to him with her usual words of sarcasm that makes Thor smile. He always notes and adores how she asks if he is still alive like she expects – _wishes –_ any different. Attached is a plane e-ticket back to Gatwick for early the following morning.

With a sigh, Thor stands to leave. The barmaid takes his half-finished bottle of beer and glances around for her husband before saying something to him. It is low enough and suits how she leans her shoulder back just enough to expose more of her breasts from her choice of low-cut tunic that Thor understands and replies with a laugh and a nod of his head.

He barely makes it back to the apartment he acquired before there is a knock at the door and the barmaid is there, brown hair down in wind-swept waves and her tunic is off before the door finally shuts.

 

\--

 

 London is as it always was: oppressive, discordant and utterly fantastic. Of all the places Thor has been, this is the only place he wants to live; a place he is proud to call home. As he rides in the back of a taxi, people pay him no mind, always too busy shopping or getting to work, faces lost in the paper wrappings of pasties or burgers; there are those who stop to take photos of everything. The latter increases at Trafalgar Square, where the traffic is only made worse by tourists.

Thor smiles, rolling his eyes, to himself as students and backpackers lounge across bronze lions like they have completely forgotten or at least do not _care_ what such symbols mean to his country. He wonders, with slight bitterness, if half of them even know who the little man at the top of the central pillar is meant to be.

The taxi pulls up outside an unmarked, white building opposite the National Portrait Gallery, identified only when asked as a Government Office that deals with International Development. It is really A5G, an organisation that works much the same as MI6, only more focused on domestically-based organised crime rather than great matters of national security. A5G is privatised, which means a bigger salary for Thor and fewer ramifications when missions go awry. He answers to no one but his Father rather than the country.

After paying the driver, Thor works his way inside, passing security wall after security wall with ease. It helps being the Boss’ son. He continues on, dishing out smiles and receiving them or respectful bows laced with tolerance, up to his supervisor’s office. Fandral sits on his desk, unashamedly looking down the blouse of a female worker as she runs him through a form of some sort. He looks up the minute Thor steps in and ushers the girl away with a charming grin. With his blonde hair and neatly-trimmed facial hair accentuating his natural handsomeness, the girl trots off with a blush.

“Thor!” he cries and jumps up to his feet, straightening his fine slate-grey suit before clapping Thor on the shoulders. “Not even a tan I see, most of the time _indoors_ then?”

“Of course!” Thor laughs and returns the pseudo-familial gesture. He takes a seat as Fandral rounds his desk and pulls a large file from one drawer. Behind him, a large window boasts a view of Nelson’s Column. Thor has always found looking at it helps his enthusiasm when receiving new missions, as if he is a modern-day counterpart of the great leader, keeping his country safe and earning plenty of attractive women for it.

Fandral catches him gazing out of the window and mistakes the frown to keep the sun from his eyes as displeasure. The slender blonde chuckles. “I know, that bloody bagpiper has been going on for _days_ ,” he leans across to shut the window, effectively silencing the noise Thor had not really noticed. “Bit of a tough one this time, I’m afraid.”

Thor reaches from his armchair to take the file from Fandral; he opens it up, finding dozens of little notes and case files rather than wrap sheets. Not at all like he is used to. In fact, there is only one such sheet, barely recognisable without a photo or list of previous convictions. “’ _Thanos_?” He looks up at Fandral in confusion.

Fandral nods once and steeps his fingers as he rests his elbows on his cherrywood desk. “That’s all we really know about him. He has no known base of operation. No contacts we know of,”

“…So why am I—”

With a resigned sigh, Fandral pushes himself up again and stalks to sift through a few pages of the file that rests on Thor’s lap. He finds something that looks like an online BBCNews report. Fandral hands Thor the sheet before perching on his desk again.

Thor scans through the article. There is no mention of any _Thanos_ , just a business man becoming CEO of some company which with he was shown as the least likely of landing the job. Perhaps strange in itself, but suspicious when the main candidates all suffered various scandals that crushed their prospects. He waves the sheet in a silent demand for extrapolation.

“He’s called The King Maker,” Fandral says, gesturing to further articles and reports in the file. “Usually it’s small things, internal business things like that, or international matters,” Thor reads a case in which it seemed Arab oil barons were playing games with each other.  And another of an owner of a thoroughbred making his fortune from an _outstandingly_ lucky Grand National. “but this time it’s involving a,” the blonde coughs like he’s about to let Thor into a big secret “member of the Royal Family.”

Thor quirks a brow in interest, but he can see on Fandral’s face that he is not getting any more insight than that. He packs the file together again, telling himself he _will_ read it later. “So, what am _I_ meant to go on?”

To this, Fandral pulls awkwardly at his tie. “The, um, member of the Royal Family has given us one lead – it is not much, but he assures it should get you _somewhere_ ,” he reaches again into his desk and pulls out a little business card, gold in colour. He flicks it across to Thor, who catches it between his forefingers.

A number, he assumes corresponds to a room given that the address below it is for a hotel on the South Coast, is written upon it in a handwriting that strikes him as being decidedly _unmale_. In fact, it is the kind of scrawl he expects from a woman with a reputation to uphold. Sophisticated and beautifully, she signed it ‘ _L’_.

“We’ve already made the necessary arrangements. You just need to wait for some form of rendezvous, I suppose.” Fandral sighs and fiddles with his neatly-curved moustache.

Thor looks up and grins. Meeting a woman with a hand like this? He is instantaneously enthusiastic about the mission.

 

\--

 

The hotel stated upon the card is large for the region, though still somewhat quaint from what he is used to overseas or even in London. Three floors and set in rich, dark wood that compliment the little forest it is nestled into. Inside it is just as opulent. A logfire burns across the Main Reception, filling the entire room with a heady, pine-wood smokiness. Thor thinks back to those holidays he seldom had in his childhood – of curling up before a fire to hear such great tales of adventure and espionage from his father’s past. Pleasant, considering he had no idea how long he would even be here for.

Standing behind the Reception desk is a pretty girl with short black hair that had been straightened, but still curls underneath her ears. Seeing the suitcase Thor carries at his side, she smiles a welcome, effectively beckoning him over.

“I have a reservation for room 240?” he says and tries not to let his lingering caution filter into his voice. Of all the assignments he has been given, this is by far the worst. He hates chasing shadows – even moreso when everything is shrouded in dark. He could waste _weeks_ here for nothing and achieve nothing.

A sudden frown takes to her face; her fingers tap away at the keyboard. It is only a quick expression, something like confusion or surprise. Thor notices, but does not think much of it. After all, for the room to be written on the card, it had probably been kept unoccupied for some time, awaiting his arrival.

“Ah yes,” she smiles again and starts the numbing process of checking in. Thor rides through it and the only effort he puts into his responses is his charm. The receptionist has apple-red cheeks when she blushes, but her voice never once stutters.

Soon, she hands over his keycard and wishes him a pleasant stay. As Thor wanders off in search of his room, he sees how she scurries off to recompose herself. He chuckles quietly and taps his fingers against the plain white card in his hand.

After lunch, when Thor makes his way up to his room, the door is ajar. His first instinct has his fingers twitching, about to reach for his gun before sense reminds him that the people he is dealing with do not play so foolishly, so obviously. That, and the maid’s cart is parked a few metres down the corridor. He pushes his way into the room without knocking.

There is nothing in the living area but a half-empty bottle of furniture polish and a cloth haphazardly slung on a side-cabinet. Continuing on, he rounds the corner to the bedroom and the maid’s head snaps to him, obviously alerted to the movement. But her eyes do not quite widen with surprise. They are green, but a shade of green he has never seen before and set like jade accents on a flawless creation of alabaster.

She pauses in her work, hands still gripping to the corners of the bedsheet she was unfolding; full red lips parting as if to make that habitual, courteous apology of being interrupted. Thor has to smile, and raises his hand in a gesture of goodwill.

“No, continue.” Walking further into the bedroom, he lowers himself down into the armchair by the window. He has seen what the other maids in this hotel wear, and none of them wear black and all of them look more like nurses than what men considered _maids_.

He watches as her arms move, so smooth and graceful as she makes changing sheets look like the dance of the seven veils. Thor can truly not help himself but to think just how well she must dance _between_ them. Those limbs are slender and long, as are her legs that are no way just an illusion of a short skirt and high heels.

“Your uniform isn’t exactly… _regulation_ ,” the blonde drawls and it does not quite make the status of _question_ and neither does his voice sound curious. One hand rises to his jaw, rubbing along his stubble as she bends to tuck the sheet under the mattress.

“ _That_ depends on the service,” she replies, and her accent is hard to place to a county but the silky cadence is unmistakably not common. She pays him no further attention, eyes focusing on her overt task. But the way her hips move, and the way she occasionally sweeps a stray lock of her raven hair behind her ear that tells Thor all he needs to know.

He stands as she is about to tuck the sheet in at the foot of the bed. And she stills as he approaches; that head tilting upwards as Thor’s hand first plants upon her waist. The curve so warm, such a perfect angle it is hard for Thor to decide whether to explore north or south. He heads for the latter as he presses against her back completely.

“I don’t recall that list in the welcome pack.”

She chuckles slightly, the texture of caramel, and turns her head, but not enough to look at him. The tips of her open curls tickle against Thor’s exposed chest in the motion. He rolls his shoulders in an attempt to open his shirt further, curious for more, far-from-accidental touches. “I’d hate to be orthodox, Sir.”

Thor’s lips quirk with amusement. Her hands have finally deserted the sheet, yet they are not hanging by her sides. He wonders if she is touching herself, because he cannot see them from his angle. It does not take a genius to realise she is not what she seemed, _at all_ , but Thor knows, better than many, when someone is intending to kill him. This woman does not fall into that category. She would have to be a lot more subtle to trick him into letting his guard down.

One hand on her stomach and the other pulling her hips back to him, Thor presses his lips to the nape of her neck. She smells of liquorice, strange and dark, but so rich he cannot imagine her being any different. He is not so intoxicated by her beauty and mystery that he forgets to inquire of her purpose – it is just a question he keeps for later.

“I can give you what you want,” she breathes out and Thor notes that the flightiness of her voice does not sound entirely faked. Either she also moonlights as an actress, or the attraction is mutual.

“I’m sure you can.” The blonde replies, smirking again and exuding all the arrogance fuelled by testosterone as his right hand slides lower down her figure, venturing under her skirt.

Her breath does not hitch, but comes out sharply as she smirks, just as his fingers feel the short, cold shaft of a mousegun.

Thor raises an eyebrow, craning over her shoulder. “Standard issue to maids, I suppose?” he whispers in her ear.

“Protection from predatory guests, of course.”

He chuckles and caresses the smooth skin on the other side of the garter-holster until he feels her shiver and that head of black hair falls onto his shoulder. Thor catches those green eyes searching for his attention and gives it after he sees no manner of teasing will make them roll back, far too steeled by a determination so seldom seen in the women he encountered.

“Who would you rather have? Me?” she asks in that syrupy voice again, lips moving with such elegant purpose that Thor _reads_ more than he _hears_. His hand travels up her thighs, seemingly making his decision – the best choice presented first in his opinion – when she speaks again. “Or Thanos?”

Again, his eyebrow raises and he stills but does not move his hand from where his fingertips brush the gusset of lace knickers. “What would a nice girl like you know about a man like him?”

She turns, brushing his hands away like fallen leaves and finally smirks into his face. Almost hard to imagine that only five minutes ago, when he first – and last – saw her visage, it was so meek, so _innocent_. Now, those lips are sharp and glossy with saliva and he can count every long, thick eyelash as they fan a narrow gaze.

“Would you like to find out?”

The way her eyes wander downwards, to her cleavage, catches Thor’s attention immediately. He does not bother to speak, just cups her cheek in one hand and angles her head up to taste those ruby lips. Her eyelashes brush against his cheek as she closes them; her mouth opens simultaneously and Thor slips his tongue in, never one to not seize an opportunity. She tastes like she smells. Thor has never had much of a liking for liquorice, and now he wonders why. If it can make his mouth feel like this, with a tongue as lithe as its owner and playing just as coy, just as skilled, he would eat nothing else.

Feeling hands motionlessly pressing against his chest, Thor places his free hand upon her breasts and groans. They are firm and their generosity is no illusion. She presses closer to the touch. Her fingers curl in his shirt. Venturing across the curve to her chest, Thor reaches the dip of the sweetheart neckline to her _uniform_. Unabashed, he slides two fingers between her breasts and she does not react with anything other that a near-missable sound of appreciation – and not for his lovers’ prowess.

He finds a folded card and gently pulls it out. It would by such a shame to mar such perfect flesh with papercuts. Once it is free, she pulls away. There is nothing upon her face but reddened lips, glistening with his saliva.

“Good choice.”

Thor parts his lips to speak, but as he takes the necessary breath, she moves and she moves quickly. He makes no attempt to intercept her, or stop her from leaving. He has had many women and he knows a bad penny when he sees one. With a smirk still playing on his face, Thor inspects his booby-prize.

A business card of a rather unconventional gold hue that glitters with a lustre that is not cheap. Exactly the same as the one he received from Fandral upon taking the case. Unfolding it, an address and time is written in a delicate, opulent hand. The card smells like it had been soaked in that scent, the scent of the writer who signed her name _L_.

 

\--

 

As he reaches the destination stated on the card he received from _L_ , Thor is thankful that he ignored his training that when entering somewhere new, it is best to play it safe and fit in wearing something casual that is not memorable. The façade is a glossy slate-grey, any lettering and the doors a deep carmine. Although it is beautiful to Thor’s tastes, it is not the decoration or even the state of the place that betrays its decadence – it is the well dressed and well composed men and women that slide past the doormen. He straightens his black tie and rises out of the car.

The driver barks for his payment and Thor blindly pulls a note from his pocket and hands it over. It is obviously more than the fare as the driver finishes their transaction with the kind of superficial gratitude a cat gives.

Situated just outside of Southampton docks, close to the shore, the wind is chilled and nips sharply at the flesh exposed from his tied-back hair. The doormen do not even so much as glance at him as he approaches. One moves only to hold the door open to a lobby that continues the dark colour scheme. 

Inside, music is sedate and classical. People mill around, some aimless, some searching and others mingling. Thor takes the nearest glass of champagne that passes him and begins to prowl. Long strides carry him quickly, though he knows not what he is looking for. Thanos is not the type of man to meet and greet guests and even less of the type to hold conversation.

Seeing a long and busy room laid out before him, countless tables set for different games and each one harbouring a nest of fortune and failure, Thor decides that his best, and most enjoyable, choice is to sit and wait for fate to find him.

After exchanging all the money he has in his pockets for a selection of chips, he takes a seat at a roulette table that is somewhat central in the room, giving him a perfect view of all the doors. The dealer looks down at his meagre pile with one raised eyebrow. It only just brushes a thousand and is likely to be the lowest starter that the dark haired youth had ever seen. It is just enough for Thor and he adjusts his jacket lapels as he pushes half the chips onto his chosen number.

The dealer spins the wheel and the ball settles in a different slot to the one Thor bet on. Thor shrugs as the chips are taken from him and his nonchalance has the youth sneer at him. How foolish he must look, halving his chips each bet, seemingly just picking a number at random and losing because of it. But Thor knows what he is doing. Wasting time, for one and lulling the dealer into complacency.

With his final chip – he is unsure of its worth but it does not matter – Thor looks up at the dealer with a meek smile. “Ah…”

The dealer rolls his dark eyes just a little to show how he thinks Thor is just another punter ruining their lives. He waits until Thor places down his chip – Red 21 – and spins the wheel.

When the ball settles, Thor glances at the youth with a broad grin. That little face is wide-eyed with surprise. “What luck.” He says flatly as he picks the ball from the Red 21 slot before sliding the worth of Thor’s win over. Thor thinks that he has coined on to his game.

The blonde takes them and taps his fingers on the flocked green table like he is weighing up his options. He wears a giddy expression for his newfound luck. “Shall we?”

There is a moment’s hesitation and the dealer’s eyes flick up to a window Thor did not notice before on the back wall. A black venetian blind keeps whatever is behind it concealed, but Thor surmises it must be an office. There are stairs leading up to a door guarded by a sharp-suited man in slim dark glasses.

The dealer raises a finger to his ear and nods, “Of course.” When he turns his head to single out another winning’s worth of chips, Thor can just make out the tiny mechanism of an earpiece.

Thor cannot quite remember at which stage his game garnered such interest and when these beautiful blondes adorning his arms joined him. He is lost in concentration, using everything he knows into calculating probability and ignoring the whispers of suggestions in his ears. His pile of chips has grown exponentially and if the spectators pocket one or two thousand, he does not notice.

Thor _does_ notice how the dealer’s hands suddenly change from wide and dark-skinned with just a hint of hair on the back to slender, pale and elegant, with long nails painted green and gold. Curious, though not wanting to seem so, Thor raises his head and meets the gaze of two green eyes he could never forget. They are rimmed with black that smudges out into the smokiest, most alluring gaze.

She wears a dress that matches her nails; one that offers a fantastic view of her cleavage as she leans over the table, waiting for him to place the bet. Even the way the curls of her hair lick at her breasts accentuates the shape and size of them, and suddenly all Thor can think of is how his fingers slid between them to find the card he has in his jacket pocket, and how he _wishes_ he could see more than just this; how he _wants_ to push his face between them and mark that marble with his teeth.

Thor shakes himself from his reverie with a cough and crosses his legs under the table. “Black 17,” he says as he pushes all of his chips onto the corresponding box on the gameboard. They spill over into the ones around it and that woman offers a smile, narrow upon those full, garnet-coloured lips and sets the ball spinning with such grace Thor focuses more on her hands than the wheel itself.

Slowly, the wheel loses momentum and the ball settles quite happily into Red 34. That woman purses her lips together and would have looked genuinely sorry for him were those eyes not shining with a smirk of utmost victory. She leans across to collect every single one of Thor’s chips and one by one, Thor’s spectators desert him. The blondes vanish leaving nothing but their honey-sweet perfume on his clothes. Thor’s azure eyes narrow on the now empty board. He is surprised how he had lost, and yet is not when he looks up again.

That woman remains, still leaning across the table in a lazy, feline fashion. “What a fortunate turn of events,” she speaks slowly, smoothly and though it is quiet, Thor hears it above all the noise around him. “You would have left me with nothing to take home.”

Thor’s brows furrow a little and he leans back in his seat to survey her. She is definitely dressed a cut above every woman here. What she wears is obviously some type of designer clothing in its unique beauty yet it fits so gloriously to her figure and suits her in ways Thor cannot really understand, only _feel_ , that he suspects it is commissioned. It is the conclusion of her wealth and the large-bodied men that stand around her that makes Thor wonder. “You run this place?”

“I own it.” She smiles, this time offering a glimpse of pearl-white teeth. Pulling away from the table, she walks around it and turns to him. “Follow me.”

Thor is up on his feet the second she starts to walk away. He takes a moment to check that his gun is in his jacket and trails a few steps behind her. Whenever he tries to move closer, one of her bodyguards glares a warning. There are many questions that echo in his head. Always wanting to know who this woman is, and how she knows Thanos; came to work for him, if she is taking him to the man. And why she had sought him out in the first place.

The office at the top of those stairs is large and lavishly decorated. All metal fixtures are gold and soft furnishings green velvet. The wood of the desk and chairs is stained dark, near black and the woman looks like a part of the interior design as she saunters through to take her seat behind the desk. There is nothing but paperwork and a pen upon it that she quickly sifts into a drawer.

“Please,” she gestures to one of the chairs before her. “Sit.”

As Thor does so, he notices her nod to the guards and they leave through the door they came in by. Their silhouettes remain against the frosted glass and Thor cannot help but feel slightly tense. Especially at the whims of a woman who was already climbing up the list of the most dangerous things he _could_ list. Thor knew women who used their bodies as weapons, but they were little more than pocket pistols to this – a weapon of mass destruction if he ever saw one. He grins confidently. As a man, he loves excess and every woman is the same past whatever venire they painted on.

“I’m Thor Odinson, though you may already know that.” He spreads himself out in the chair comfortably, gazing upon her and not bothering to conceal the fact that he is drawn to her bosom. And if it annoys her, then she would cover herself, but she makes no move. In fact, Thor swears she pushes them slightly together. Perhaps crossing his legs would be a good idea if she keeps this up.

“Indeed,” she chuckles for a moment. “My name is Loki. Though you may have heard of the alias _Trickster_.”

“I thought the Trickster was a man?”

Loki smirks and twirls a lock of her hair around her finger. “I’m whatever I choose to be,” she replies. “Would you prefer me as a man?” leaning back in her chair, she sets her feet upon the desk. Her legs look all the more longer in strappy emerald stilettos; one leg exposed almost all the way up from the split in the dress. Her thighs are cast in shadow, offering Thor nothing more than a wisp of colour he imagines is her knickers. Thor surprises himself that he even wants to imagine she wears such things. He gulps again and Loki chuckles like tumbling silk. “Would that make you more comfortable, Odinson?”

Thor does not know what to say, embarrassingly disarmed by nothing but words and that sinfully creamy leg. Fingers tighten around the arms of the chair he sits in and he takes another breath to force coolness back into his voice. “Whatever you choose.”

Another smirk and Loki drops her hand from her hair. “Right now, I am choosing to be your ally.”

Frowning, Thor leans forwards in interest. “Ally? What do you have to offer?”

“Thanos, of course.”

His frown deepens and Loki just laughs, that melodious sound as pleasant as winter birdsong.

“This here is the Kingdom he built me, but he’s been forgetting his place as of late,” those green eyes darken with a hint of malice and a lot of irritation. She gesticulates as she talks and those elegant hands are just as verbose. “I caught wind of your little mission and decided to make my move.”

Thor knows it is pointless to question how she had heard of that, or even how she knows of _him_. For a spy, he is remarkably unsubtle, and if he has heard the name Trickster before, she is sure to have heard of him.

“And what do you want from _me_?” Thor asks, his voice little more than a curious rumble in his chest.

Loki smiles, her eyes narrowing, but is unable to reply as there is a knock on the door. One of the guards pops his head in without permission and that fact seems to vex Loki greatly.

“There’s a man here… with a green card, Miss.”

“Send him in.” she replies, almost sighing.

Thor sits and watches in silence as a man swaggers in. Dark red hair is slicked back neatly and a suit with pinstripes that matched exactly. He goes straight up to the desk, ignoring Thor completely, and slams his card down on the desk. It is the exact same shape and size as the gold one Thor has. She only reacts with a bored, expectant blink like a cat.

“No tricks this time, Bitch. Give me my money.”

Loki takes the card delicately and flicks it across the nails of her other hand as she ponders the man’s words. “Thanos gave you this?” to which he nods curtly. His shoulders are tight with impatient exasperation. Loki’s face suddenly brightens with a wide smile and she stands to walk to the door that is behind her chair. “Please,” she holds it open and gestures for the man to walk in.

Once he does, she turns back to Thor and excuses herself politely. The door shuts and Thor glances around the empty office. Through the window he can make out that the gambling tables are now much livelier. He can only estimate how much money this place makes a night, all the more when the dealers cheated patrons from their winnings.

The familiar noise of a gunshot has Thor’s attention fastened to that door again, but the thud that followed was much too heavy to be Loki. He frowns as the door opens again and she steps out, not a single sign upon her but the smoking muzzle of the mousegun she places upon the desk.

“And he was?”

“A man who tried to strike a deal with Thanos. It was refused.”

“That green card told you that?” Thor asks. He lies back in his chair, hands splayed on his thighs. “What does a gold card get me?” he speaks again as she slides back into her seat.

“A gold card is a very unique card,” she replies with an amused grin. “I only give those to men I like.”

Thor waits to see if she will give him more, but she does not make any move to talk again. Until he opens his mouth to speak.

“I ask for nothing from you, Odinson,” she answers to his earlier question and her voice is stern and certain. “I simply wish to make a statement; to remind Thanos I’m not here for his convenience.”

“There must be safer ways to do that?” There is a modicum of concern in there. Thor does not understand it, and tries to ignore its very existence, but he feels that there is something much deeper to her motive that Loki is not telling. And she would not tell.

Loki laughs as if she knows what he is thinking; that she thinks he cares for a woman he had only just met. Thor might be a strong devotee to Lust At First Sight, but he knows much better than to feel anything more than a strong sexual attraction to this woman.

“There’s a fight coming. I’m just hedging my bets with the winner.”

The blonde slides his hands down to his knees as he thinks over his options. This is the first real lead he has had in the search of Thanos. The first real chance at finding him, and the only person he has met that has even offered him such a thing. It sounds too good to be true, but then, he would think the same of Loki’s beauty were he not seeing it in the flesh.

“I hope your confidence is not misplaced,”

She sneers. The curve to her lips is so wicked and sharp, if used correctly it would wound deeply. “Thanos is an arrogant fool. Against the two of us, he won’t stand a chance.”

With a low chuckle, Thor decides to bite the bullet and give Loki a try. And if it backfires, then it will just be another skirmish to fight his way out of. All paths are there to be walked. “Shall we seal the deal?”

“ _Consummate_ our alliance?” Loki offers in different words and if feels like the brush of velvet. His cock twitches like she had addressed it alone. Even the way she stands is arousing, so fluid in the hips and her dress ripples as she walks with daintily measured steps and stops before him. The emerald of her eyes smoulders as she looks down upon him and she wets her lips in a swipe of her tongue that makes Thor’s mouth dry. “How would yo—”

The knock on the door has Loki’s hands ball into tight fists and Thor knows a new kind of sexual frustration. A different guard sticks his head in this time, straight faced as he announces. “Red card, Miss.”

The colour drains from her face and Loki takes a step back. Immediately, Thor frowns in confusion and surprise; his hands twitch with the instinct to cup around her face before he remembers himself. That would be too much a gesture of interest, of caring. She is suddenly so delicate that Thor worries she would shatter at a touch. His face must have been screaming the question that bites on his tongue as her lips offer such a tiny little smile.

“Executioner and _prostitute_ ,” she mutters and makes her way over to a chaise longue that runs against one of the walls. “I’ll contact you in the next few days. Just don’t go anywhere, Odinson.”

Nodding once, he makes his way to the door. As he opens it, he turns back and sees her spread out across that furniture, the very image of seduction. Her mien has completely changed, back to the confidence that would have made him hungry to see if all of her tasted of liquorice if only he had not just seen what hides behind that mask. He leaves as another man with black hair and a goatee pushes his way inside.

 

\--

 

After five days of nothing, Thor is long past restlessness and he thinks he has just been led up the garden path. There is also a small part – he tries to deny it every time it whispers to him – that worries if somehow Thanos discovered Loki’s proposition and has treated her as all traitors are in their game. The loyalty of paid guards is as reliable as a spluttering car, and if Thanos had control over someone as dangerous as Loki, he surely had others. The more he thought about it, the more Thor realised that it is more likely that she had been weeded out.

But he was never a man of pessimism and Hope is something he made into a virtue. Patience, though, not so much. After ordering everything he fancied from the room service menu, Thor sits at the little desk in the corner of the living room and flicks his laptop open. He is greeted by wall after wall of security and inputs codes only he knows. Finally, he reaches his desktop, decorated with his beloved Audi R8 that he had to leave back home.  Thor gently touches the screen, imagining that the coolness of it was that of the metal of the car’s wing, but his imagination falls short and all he is doing was pawing at a photo of an attractive car like a teenage boy who could not even drive.

Sighing, Thor logs onto A5G’s network and scans through his emails as he supports his head in one hand. There is nothing that demands his attention, perhaps a few scathing remarks from Sif that he would have to think up suitable comebacks to, so Thor composes a message to send to Fandral.

He gives a concise update that _nothing was happening_ and misses out his encounter with Loki entirely – putting his faith (and life on the line) into a stranger, one that is directly linked to the target, is something so awfully idiotic that Thor does not want anyone else to know about it just yet. He does, however, request that Fandral try to uncover as much as he could about the one who goes by the name _Trickster_.

Just as he clicks to send, there is a knock at the door. One eyebrow raise, wondering if he had really spent so long just with his emails or whether his order had been sent up at record speed. Upon opening the door, he is met by a mouse-like girl with chestnut hair and wire-framed glasses. She holds a fluffy white robe in both arms and smiles like he had just jumped out on her rather than opened a door.

“The therapists are ready for you, Sir,” she says.

Thor frowns, “…you must have the wrong room.”

“No?” The girl looks down at a piece of paper that is half-concealed by the robe. It is a receipt for the hotel’s spa and it quite clearly states his room number and the name – but the payment details are hidden. Interesting. And worth taking a look.

Covering his frown with a bright grin, Thor laughs. “Ah, yes! I completely forgot about that!” he takes the robe from her arms. “Can you tell _whoever_ to delay my room service order?”

“Yes, Sir.” The girl replies and scurries off back down the corridor. Thor watches until she vanishes round the corner before looking down at the receipt she slipped him. Surprisingly, it looks just like a normal debit-card transaction. All numbers save four last digits are replaced with stars and there is no name; no way of identifying who knew his name and exact location and how he needed a _stress relieving_ back, neck and shoulder massage.

Thor shuts the door and quickly strips down to put the robe on. Before he leaves, he slides the smallest of the guns he has to hand into the waistband of his briefs. It is not perfectly secure, but he can hold it in place subtly with one hand in the robe’s pocket.

At the spa, he states his name and is immediately led by a cheery-faced blonde with a silk flower in her hair to a treatment room at the very end of a long corridor. He is told to leave his disposable slippers under the massage couch and the robe folded on a chair in the corner. Thor watches the girl leave. The dark maroon uniform she wears suits her figure well. Pleats and a sash give her skinny frame a semblance of a shape, and the high collar hides the fact that the curves to her breasts are just padding. Thor has seen and felt so many women he can just tell now. _Still_ , her face was nice and he does not mind knowing that her hands will be upon him for the next half hour.

Thor climbs upon the couch and slings the provided towel over his hips. A few minutes later, the door opens again and from what Thor can make out from his lazy peripheral vision, it is a different girl. This one is taller, wears a sharp black uniform that clings to _real_ curves and had hair a shade closer to blood than copper. Curls fall loose from a high ponytail and even when Thor glances up to get a proper look at her, her face is hidden behind a fringe and her shoulder as she bends to the trolley against the wall to retrieve whatever oils and potions she will be working with. Thor loses immediate interest after a minute or two.

The redhead starts slowly and gently, spreading a mint scented oil across his shoulder blades and downwards. Her touch – whilst confident – does not seem all that experienced. Thor has not had all that many massages before, but he just gets the impression; one that is surely affirmed as with each movement, those hands grow firmer and she starts to hum soothingly.

Five minutes into the routine and Thor groans in relaxed pleasure as she works tension straight from his lower neck. He hears her make some expression, either a smirk or a sneer. She continues on, travelling back down his spine in deep-reaching, kneading motions of her fists and slowly – so slowly at first that he does not realise it – draws that towel across his hips downwards and off the couch. Thor turns his head as he sees it hit the floor out of the corner of his eye.

Before he could remark, the redhead mounts him smoothly, her legs clung tight to his sides lest they fall from the couch. He does not question her. The weight of her on his thighs is pleasant and Thor can _feel_ warmth coming from inside her skirt. He groans again, louder, as she rolls the heels of her palms back up his spine and into his trapezius.

“I do _love_ that noise, Odinson,”

Thor does not stiffen in surprise for longer than a second. That is how long it takes for him to place her intonation; the treacle-like texture of her voice unique and unforgettable. All muscles loosen under her touch now. All residual fear for her wellbeing vanishes. “ _Trickster_ ,” he almost sighs, and if he does he blames it on the massage.

“Sorry it’s taken me so long. Had to run an errand out of the country.”

“Thanos?” Thor asks curiously before he releases another sound of pleasure under her fingertips. Where she learned to do this, he does wonder, but cares little. Now, she is applying her entire body into it. Thor can _feel_ her fluid hips moving over him, surging back and forth in a calming, arousing motion.

Loki hums in affirmation. “Russian oligarch wanted to dispose of some competition.”

“So you’re an assassin, too?” Thor mused aloud, folding his arms under his head.

Smirking again, Loki’s massage grows light. “I didn’t _kill_ him. I _may_ have started a media scandal that he will find it hard to recover from though. He’s married to a popular celebrity, you see…”

“And she didn’t take kindly to finding you in their bed?”

“We weren’t in a _bed_ , but yes.”

Thor takes Loki’s hands finally pulling away and her weight decreasing, but her legs remaining, as his cue to turn over. He does so carefully, as to not accidentally knock her off. And just to be sure, grasps her thighs securely. They are just as smooth as they look, soft and warm from where her skirt rides up. Thor raises his eyes to her face. She looks so different with red hair, with a fringe to cover her still-black eyebrows. The green of her eyes and pale skin look almost normal in a Russian kind of way. When he reaches up to finger at a stray curl in interest, Loki reaches up and slides the wig off. She casts it to the chair in the corner and shakes her raven locks free. The change is instantaneous. Her skin now looks translucent and her eyes all the more intense. Thor can think of nothing that suits Loki better than her actual self.

He licks his lips as he slides his hands up and down a few inches of Loki’s legs. He finds that staring at her is like staring at a cat. Her eyes can be preternaturally expressionless when she wants them to be, unblinking and unfathomable. “So, Thanos—”

He stops as she laughs. It is not quite high-pitched, but is still reminiscent of bubbles. She swings her head just a little, sending all those waves and curls over her right shoulder. “Business _again_ , Odinson?” she sighs and for the first time, places her hands against his chest. Her long fingers fit and cup perfectly over his pectorals. Her palms are warm against his nipples. “I’m in quite the mood for pleasure.”

Thor can do little but groan at the very thought; the very _tone_ she uses that is a caress in its own right. His fingers squeeze her thighs for a second, thumbs rubbing circles into the flawless skin; blue eyes narrowing as he challenges her gaze once again. “Don’t start what you won’t finish.”

Those perfect red lips spread into a grin and she brings her right hand up to her cleavage to dip into the valley, just as he had, and slips out a familiar foil wrapper. “Oh, I have every intention of _finishing_.”

She casts the condom to Thor and shuffles back just enough along his thighs so that he can push his boxers down and free his cock. He takes his gun and leaves it beside his head before taking his half-hard erection in hand. Thor watches as Loki unzips the therapist’s tunic she wears, stroking himself at the sight of her. She is slender but well-formed and her skin is a milky shade that reminds Thor of the clotted cream he loved as a child. Reaching up with his free hand, Thor rubs it against her stomach to feel the warm, firm muscle and then up to her breasts. They are hidden behind a black lace bra; her nipples poke out and he thumbs over one to make her hum in languorous enjoyment.

Loki shrugs the tunic to the floor and moves to stand on all fours, leaning over him to place his gun on the therapist’s trolley, making more room for her hands to support herself. The position brings those supple mounds to Thor’s head and he rises to press his face into her cleavage. The smell of liquorice almost chokes him, so heady he groans against soft flesh. It takes one hand, well practiced in the action, to unclasp the bra and slide it from her shoulders. She casts it aside and indulges him.

Thor licks a generous, wet trail between the valley of them, turning his head occasionally to nibble on either side. And she purrs, stroking the back of his neck encouragingly. Her hips cant down just enough to rock against him; his cock under her skirt and rubbing against the gusset of her knickers. He can feel the seam of her lips; feel how _wet_ she is just from this.

“Loki,” Thor murmurs against her sternum and searches for the fastening of the skirt that keeps it tight to her hips. It would be much more practical to keep it on, but Thor knows he wants to see all of her; and wants to see his cock disappear inside her. He has always gotten off on pleasuring a woman and seeing himself doing so by far felt best.

She pushes herself up enough that it is easier to remove the skirt. Thor groans as she settles back atop him, wearing only lace knickers that cling determinedly to her hips and highlight the shapeliness of her thighs. He paws at the hem of them, at a loss for what words to say when his tongue is the least important of his muscles. Loki smirks and bends to kiss his bearded chin. “You want me naked, Odinson?”

Thor laughs just a little, amused at how she speaks like it is a ridiculous demand but finds it within himself to reply, “Yes.”

“Well then,” Loki gets up immediately and nigh-on yanks his briefs down and casts them aside. The carefree manner in which she acts strangely reminds Thor where they are. Whilst the therapy room only has one door and a narrow window that runs the length of one wall close to the ceiling, and he can see no blinking lights of a CCTV camera, it is still a room that they are dishonestly occupying.

Loki must see how his eyes flick to the door as she smirks and walks, still wearing those far-too-opaque knickers, to take the chair that remains in the corner to prop it underneath the door handle, effectively keeping the world outside. “Better?” she asks with one eyebrow quirked upwards into a high arch.

“Not _quite_.”

She laughs that laugh of caramel and slips her thumbs past the waistband of her remaining garment. Thor grips his fingers tightly around the base of his cock and impatiently fiddles with the condom wrapper in the other. As she pulls the black lace down, Thor’s gaze follows it. She looks like a nymph, hairless apart from those jet-black curls that tumble over her shoulders and around her face like the night around the moon. He is not a man of poetry, but there is nothing that suits her beauty like it.

“Come,” Thor holds out his hand and speaks firmly, as if desire is not the only thing that burns through him.

Loki takes the condom from him and tears it open cleanly. She spares enough consideration to cast the empty wrapper in the little bin underneath the massage couch before joining him on it again. She moves with such feline grace, all muscles controlled and supple. Freeing both hands, Thor traces them down her sides and hips, cupping her buttocks and squeezing as she rolls the condom down his shaft in one smooth stroke of her hand.

How fantastic she would look, writhing on a bed or on the floor. His imagination may fail him in other aspects, but when it comes to see Loki spread or folded in all manner of positions, he sees her vividly. He whispers her name and pulls her closer to him. She obliges, angling her hips so that his cock slips between her lips. It slides easily in her fluids as she rocks against him.

Loki hums, her head tipped back over her shoulders, as the head of his length rubs against her clit. “It may please you to know,” she says with a smile that does not quite echo in her eyes. They are far too dark, far too dilated to look anything but lustful now. “I’ve never had sex on a massage bed before.”

“Let’s just hope it can stand up to it,” Thor grins and thrusts his hips up in keenness. He can feel the dip of her opening against the underside of his cock but Loki does not let him angle to enter. It is almost like she wants him to beg for the honour. The thought is laughable, and it makes Thor smirk. Usually, he makes a woman come once or twice before fucking them, always wanting to make a good impression and leave incomparable satisfaction.

He palms over her hips eagerly. They are smooth and soft and generous, filling his hands as he tries to coax her gently into angling up just enough to penetrate her. “C’mon, Loki,” he purrs lowly.

Loki bends to rest her forearms either side of his head. She smirks at him and her hair slides down from her shoulders to curtain them from the rest of the room. “Anticipation increases pleasure, don’t you know?”

“I’ve been _anticipating_ this for days,” Thor replies hotly. He groans as Loki moves a tiny bit, his cock grazing her entrance. If she does it again, he is determined to thrust up and catch her out. How long then would that smug expression remain on her face? “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

“ _Oh_ , how flattering.”

Thor notices how her breathing has changed just slightly. It is still slow and deep, but it is more of a conscious choice now than habit. She is highly aroused and receptive, and does not fight as Thor lifts her. He is strong and Loki is light, though he suspects she helps. He is sure when she sinks down onto his cock, never once breaking eye contact. Thor wants to groan; fighting to keep his eyes from rolling back as he is enveloped in her slick, hot body, much tighter than he was expecting. Loki must understand that much, as she scoffs.

Torturously, she does not even take all of Thor’s length in before she starts to move back. Thor grasps her hips, trying to prevent her, to move her down and she slaps at his hands.

“You’ve never had a big cock in you before, have you?” she snaps. Thor is somewhat stunned to hear such words from such delicately-crafted lips, but etched into her face he sees discomfort, perhaps even _pain_.

He rubs apologetic circles into her waist with his thumbs, trying not to grin smugly, “Sorry.” Whilst many women made comments as to his size, and how it felt, mostly in replete awe, Thor has no idea of what Loki was used to, and how well she takes care of herself. In her line of work, it is important to remain in a desirable condition. No man wants to fuck into a hole where many a man has obviously left their mark. He could not begin to estimate how many men Loki has had, perhaps as many as he has had women, yet Thor would not be surprised if, with a tightness like this, she could pass for virginal when the occasion called for it.

When only the head of his cock is left in her, Loki rocks down again. She takes in those previous inches, and another before moving back just a bit. And then finally, in a push joined with a languorous exhale, finally takes him all, seated snugly on his lap.

“Are you alright?” Thor asks quietly. It is meant in genuine concern.

Loki lips twist upwards sharply and she turns her head to kiss him. A soft mockery of his misplaced compassion. She hisses to his lips, “ _Of course,_ ” and starts to rock against him. Simple, small motions at start. Just enough for Thor to bite his lip at the frustration of the film of latex between them.

Her thrusts become more vigorous over time. In perhaps two minutes, she is sliding almost completely from his cock and impaling herself quickly, each time making a little gasp that brushes cold against Thor’s cheek. He can tell already how beautiful she will be when inhibitions desert her, but the massage couch is really no place for it. It protests already, remaining sturdy, but the metalwork squeaks and creaks. Thor can only hope it gets serviced before those nuts and screws come completely lose.

A kiss draws him back to Loki. Red lips are so soft against his own but her tongue is demanding and electric. Forever now, the taste of liquorice will remind Thor of slick movements, so much warmth and pleasure, and a fight he struggles to win. Loki is in the perfect position to control everything. Whilst Thor does keep his grasp on her hips, she _allows_ him to change the pace; guiding her into shallow but fast thrusts.

“Are you,” Loki’s breaths hiss out between her teeth; lips brushing against Thor’s chin. Her voice has lost all its sugar and is now as bitter and sharp as lemons. “ _seriously,_ expecting me, to do all the, work?”

Chuckling from the back of his throat, Thor bucks his hips up as she slides down, forcing his cock into her so _hard_ she moans and hangs her head against his clavicle. He does it again and gets much the same reaction. Fingers tighten around her hips to move and pull her to his suiting. She seems to thrive on the show of strength and dominance, moaning and gasping into his neck and her fingers find his flesh, clutching and clenching; nails biting into muscles. Thor feels her teeth graze him and how her internal muscles convulse impatiently around him.

“ _God_ ,” he groans. He hates this stupid massage couch. It is far too restrictive – in the worst of ways. He wants to roll and move and find all sorts of ways to drive Loki mad and into submission. “I can’t wait to, have you on your back,” if it sounds presumptuous and arrogant, Thor does not care and neither does Loki as she moans again under her breath. “I’d have you, so hard, in so many ways, you’d _miss_ me, every time, you sit down.”

“Oh, _Thor_ ,” Loki croons and lifts her head, kissing around his mouth feverishly. His name sounds so beautiful in that voice. To only hear it louder, echoing off walls; for her to drown every sense of his.  Her hands fist in his hair, though she does not pull too hard, perhaps trying to find an outlet for the pressure that builds in her gut.

The tightening of her body draws Thor ever closer to completion. But he cannot bear to finish before her. One hand breaks from her hip to sneak between their bodies, finding her slit easily and slipping inside. He rubs his thumb against her clit in a constant, circular pressure. It only takes a few seconds for her back to arch; grinding her breasts into his chest. The moan she produces is just a little too loud so Thor angles his head to her and kisses her deeply.

Loki jerks away, resting her forehead against his shoulder, needing to suck in breaths. Her hips thrust madly to meet his, riding in a rhythm that he – in his own chase to orgasm – fails to match.

“ _Ahh—”_ the sound is choked, silenced as Loki fastens her lips to Thor’s neck as she comes. She constricts like a fist around his cock. Thor bucks up a few more times, struggling to fit all the way in before he comes, hard. His moan is bitten into a grunt, so primal as he surges through the waves and aftershocks before collapsing and pulling out of her completely.

Loki remains hovering over him for a minute as she recaptures her breath. “Well,” she pants out in little more than a whisper. “That was mightily considerate of you.”

A breathless chuckle slips from Thor’s mouth and his palms appreciatively over her hips. He can _hear_ the syrup seeping back into her voice; pleased to know he could make her lose control even like this, where his applicable skills are limited. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Humming lightly, Loki kisses his mouth before she stands. Thor does not even bother to move, content to watch her wipe her sex clean with a tissue before redressing. She completes the action gracefully, as seductive as taking it all off.

Thor stretches out his muscles lazily and swings his feet down to the ground to sit up. As he calms, the condom’s stickiness becomes uncomfortable. Thor pulls it off and ties it before casting it into the bin. “So what happens now?”

“Now?” Loki laughs and turns to him as she zips the tunic back up. “Now I return to earn a living.”

“…is that it?” Thor gestures in exasperation; surprised and confused that despite Loki being the one to propose their alliance, she has done little to concrete it.

Those green eyes stare flatly at him and her lips quirk upwards. “What? Do you expect me to cook you dinner?” she chuckles darkly to herself and removes the chair from where she placed it against the door. “Call me, we can work something out.”

“But, I don’t—” Thor silences himself as she slips out of the door.  Thankfully, she closes it again, but he knows he does not have long before a real therapist enters to find him naked. He finds his underwear again and slips them on before going to retrieve his gun from the trolley. Underneath it is the type of card he has come to adore. He slides the gun back into his waistband and unfolds the paper to read it.

It is a mobile phone number, cursively written in black ink, but clear and unmistakable. Thor thumbs over the obligatory _L_ before pulling on the white robe.

 

\--

 

Thor returns to his room again, just in time to hear his laptop ringing with an incoming video call. He curses at himself for leaving the system open, and knows that should anyone have caught him, there would be serious repercussions. All exasperation expires quickly from his features because he is just so _relaxed_ after Loki’s attempt at a massage.

He sits in front of his laptop and clicks to accept the call. A window opens and Fandral’s face comes on screen, Nelson’s Column just peeking up from the bottom right corner. Thor would not be surprised if Fandral spent at least a couple minutes arranging his webcam to make it so.

“ _Still_ no developments?” the slender blonde asks by way of greeting.

Thor chuckles, “It’s only been an hour since I sent that message.”

“Yes, well, _some_ of us have been hard at work in that hour.” The way Fandral’s eyes narrow once he figures what Thor is wearing. That, and Thor suspects that Loki’s mouth on his neck to silence the cry of her climax may have left a mark. It definitely did, by the look in Fandral’s eyes – hardly one professional, but more suiting the friendship and anecdotes they share over beers of a Friday. “I dug up all we have on The Trickster.”

Thor nods and seconds later a file invite pops up by the side of their video window. Thor starts the transfer and Fandral’s eyes dart from side to side as he reads it on his end. “ _Loki_ ,” he sounds as if he is tasting the word, but cannot decide whether it comes bitter or sweet.  It is exactly both, but Thor cannot differentiate if he finds that, or simply thinks it because he knows _she_ tastes of liquorice. “Not much by way of _family_ … oh, says she was abandoned by her parents— _oh_ , _she’s_ a _woman_?”

It is hard to repress a chuckle at the surprise in Fandral’s voice. Even Thor does not quite remember where they had all heard that the Trickster was male; it seemed now like a completely illogical assumption. A chameleon of identities and skills… it was not really the usual occupation of a man. The thought is utterly laughable now that Thor knows her.

On the video, Fandral’s features twist downwards, in displeasure and concern. “…she doesn’t sound the most friendly of roses.”

Thor frowns and leans to read what Fandral must have just seen. The words ‘ _homicidal_ ’, ‘ _psychopathic_ ’ and ‘ _similar in traits to malignant narcissism_ ’ stand out and echo. The further _‘formed in childhood_ ’ is extrapolated in the case of just how Loki, at the age of seven, set down the path she had formed quite a splendid palace for herself now. A shiver runs down his spine, taking all lingering pleasure from their intercourse with it.

“Pretty girl.”

Thor glances at a photo that appears just under where he reads. It is a mugshot of when she had been arrested. Thor is stunned just how _innocent_ she looks, far too young to commit all that he had just read. Her face much softer and rounder in shape and her eyes seem a much more natural shade when not rimmed in black. Her hair was much shorter, barely brushing narrow, bony shoulders.

“Beautiful woman.” Thor does not mean to reply and catches himself lightly fingering at the picture on screen. He is fascinated with just how such a girl could become the cat he had experienced.

Fandral’s laugh draws him back out. With one hand, he fixes the curl of his moustache in attempt to reign in his amusement, but continues to snigger. “So you _have_ had a development.”

“Of such,” Thor starts and it comes reluctantly. He is loathe to admit the idiocy of his situation, but it is not a secret he could expect to keep for very much longer. He reaches back and scratches his head. “She is offering to help me get rid of Thanos.”

The one eyebrow Fandral raises is all that needs to be said. “An alliance,” he says flatly, wholly in the cynicism Thor knew he too should feel. “with a habitual criminal?”

“She’s the only lead I’ve got on this damn case,” Thor grunts and closes the window with Loki’s file on it because seeing that lost little girl only makes him want to spend more time with her for the wrong reasons. This was a business liaison, he tries to tell himself. A business liaison with really good sex. There was no need to learn more about her past. It was only important that he not find himself on the wrong side of her darker tendencies.

“What about the card the Royals gave us?”

“She _is_ it.”

Fandral fiddles with his facial hair again, frowning deeply. His blue eyes expose a stormy conflict, between a need to finish this case before it turns critical and genuine concern for his friend and colleague. Slowly, he blinks and nods. “I want you to report back as often as you can. Four times a day, minimum. And as soon as you get a chance, get back up here and pick up one of the radio transmitters. I’m not having you floating face-down halfway to France by the end of the week.”

Thor laughs and convinces himself that Fandral is just making up a fantasy worst-case scenario. But he does not know enough about Loki to trust it.

“How did you contact her in the first place?”

“I came down here – same hotel, same room as on the card,” Thor says with a shrug, “and she just arrived.”

Fandral hums in thought. “That card came straight from the Prince…” the blonde winces as he knows he has said something he should not. Thor’s lip twitches in amusement, but they both know he is not the type to go selling scandals to tabloids. “Perhaps she was waiting for someone to respond to it.”

It does have the feelings of a trap about it, but Thor cannot really expect someone as feline as Loki to work in overt ways. She did say that she caught wind of their investigation and put her foot in the door. But he comes out smirking, unable to stop thinking of just _how_ the _Prince_ they worked on behalf of got the card in the first place. Perhaps he, like the Russian Loki spent the last week chasing, was trying to scathe off a public scandal that would have repercussions like no other.

Thor finds the gold card that had been left for him and contemplates reciting the number to Fandral as if he has some system to track it. But whilst Loki had said nothing of keeping their alliance on a small-scale, Thor is hesitant to involve A5G and perhaps scare Loki either away or into killing him. He is not well versed in the behavioural patterns of caged animals.

Thor places the card next to his laptop on the desk and sighs. “I’ll be up in the next couple days. I’ll just see what Loki intends to do first.”

Fandral hums as he nods slowly. “I want a report on _her_ as well.”

“But I know no more than this!” Thor gestures to the laptop in front of him in indignation.

Fandral just laughs and with one hand up to his face, leans towards the camera in an intimate way. “ _Not_ for the system, dear friend. For _me_.”

 

\--

 

Thor spends the rest of the day staring at the card and his mobile phone sat side-by-side on the desk. Sometimes his hand hovers over the latter, going to pick it up before he thinks of what Loki did as a child and he pulls his hand back to his lap. Thor is not disgusted, not _repulsed_ at the thought of what he had done with her – he had no idea what horrors his other lovers had committed before their encounters. He is simply worried that his only thoughts towards the matter are questions as to _why_ Loki would have done what she did. How could such a pretty girl be driven to do such a thing? She could not have done it simply for the _fun_ of it.  But he knows he should not care, and he tries to stop himself from doing so.

It is sometime in the earlier evening when he sits alone with his _al desko_ dinner, bored to madness with the silence that Thor seizes his phone and the card and dials. He sighs in relief at the sound of a ringtone, but ring is all it does. After a minute, it clicks onto voicemail. The voice does not state any name – only that messages will be responded to – but Thor can recognise the silky purr of the Trickster easily.

He does not leave a message and hangs up. He is far too bored to wait around to try again. The Field is his calling, his territory, not being bunged up in some luxury hotel that is beginning to feel more like a hamster cage. Loki would come and go at her pleasing, keeping Thor in the dark so there is little he can do but _wait_. That is even less of his style.

At seven, Thor sighs and dresses in his suit again before leaving for Loki’s casino. The sky is darker as he arrives. A sea mist crawls up from the docks and every so often, the cargo ships that pass down Southampton Water like a conveyer belt blow their horns loud enough to rattle bones.

He enters the building unchallenged and this time, immediately makes his way into the main room and towards those steps that lead up to Loki’s office. He sees that the lights are on inside even if the blinds are drawn. Two of her large guards are fastened to the door. Thor knows better than to rush up and barge in – not knowing what he would find and even _if_ he could get past those two men without causing a monumental scene.

Instead, he relies upon the thought that just like last time, Loki would spot him and make her way down when she is ready. He has little money though, and is unwilling to be tricked out of what he does have again, so he wanders over to the glossy mahogany bar near the blackjack tables. It is in plain view of Loki’s office. Thor sits and orders a drink that the white-clad barman makes efficiently.

Not bothering to look at the time, Thor simply sits and waits as people frequent the bar like tides. Some try to strike up on conversation – usually about the gambling – that Thor just shirks off with one word answers and superficial interjections of interest.  Occasionally, women sidle up to him, expecting drinks. Any other time, Thor would happily oblige, feeding their inhibitions but he is weary and reluctant to, knowing Loki could very well be watching him. She struck Thor as the jealous type, even more so now he knew a little of her background.

One brunette is determined, or at the very least does not notice Thor’s disinterest, and keeps on touching his arm with a slender hand as she talks at him. He has already studied her and deduced that there is no way she could be Loki. The skin is too olive and the eyes a pretty but ordinary hazelnut brown.  Definitively, her face is a completely different shape, rounder and softer than Loki’s. Thor half wonders if this woman is a test of his loyalty.  He continues to ignore her and she continues to try.

But when he sees the two guards at Loki’s door startle and burst back into her office – one reaching for something inside his jacket – Thor jumps up, alert and confused. He runs through the casino and up those stairs, slamming the door back against the wall and seeing the two guards beating another man into unconscious subservience. A malfunctioning taser buzzes on the floor, catching Thor’s eyes for a moment before he finally notices Loki by her desk.

She lies on the floor, shaking, and Thor is shocked to see the utter vulnerability upon her face. Her eyes are as wide and afraid as any skittish mammal’s. Her dress is torn around her legs, both forced open, and even in the dim lights, Thor can see red marks upon her thighs. He kneels beside her, unsure whether or not to touch her. One side of her face is flushed an angry red; long lines betray fingers.

“Loki,” he calls gently, his hands hover, impotent, over her. He almost sighs when she turns to him and instantly looses the fear from her eyes. Strangely, that unintentional show of the trust she has invested in him warms Thor. If she feels _safe_ with him, he feels slightly more comfortable around her – whether or not it will be foolish in the end.

“Thor.” Her voice is still shaky, sounding distant.

Reaching for her hand, Thor takes it within his and soothingly rubs his thumb over her knuckles. He watches as the guards drag that man into the adjoining room, and once the door shuts, he does not _care_ what they do to him. Thor has _always_ hated men who force themselves upon women, and knows that had he not been concerned for Loki, he would gladly punish that man for his lack of honour.

But he hardly knows what to do _with_ Loki. Not like other women, she could easily react so much _worse_ to this defilement of her confidence. She slowly regains her breath though, and her legs lower, closed, to the ground.

Thor shrugs off his suit jacket and helps Loki to sit up before he drapes it over her shoulders. Whether searching for cover or the warmth of it, Loki’s slim hands grasp the lapels and pull it tight to her chest. The shoulders are much too wide for hers, making her seem swathed in black, like a fairytale princess in a winter cloak. “Do you live far?”

Those green eyes focus back on him and Thor reads confusion.

“I’m taking you home. Where do you—”

Loki laughs and struggles to her feet, though it does take Thor to steady her and once his arms are around her waist, he does not let her go. “I’m _fine_ ,” she replies, “just a little surprised.”

Though he hums in understanding, Thor does not believe it. How _could_ she be? Never mind how she contains it, he can still feel her shivering against him. Loki does not speak again, obstinately. When the door to that adjoining room opens again, Thor immediately addresses the guard that walks inside. “Can you order a car to take the lady home?”

No emotion shows upon that stern face, though dark eyes do flick to Loki in uncertainty. It makes Thor grit his teeth with impatience. His every instinct is to help and he finds it impossible to understand how everyone could fail to react to something like Loki being accosted. What a strange world criminals live in. Strange, and repulsive.

Loki sighs and bats Thor’s arms from her. “I only live across the road,” she concedes.

Thor allows her to take a few steps back, keeping ever-ready to catch her should she stumble. She makes her way round her desk and retrieves a clutch-bag from a drawer. Exasperation is clear upon her face, but so is exhaustion and lingering shock. That is all Thor needs to steel himself into taking care of her. She may be a criminal and may have done unspeakable things, but she was a woman regardless and could not face the world alone.

 

\--

 

True to her word, Loki’s apartment is only across the road. The sea view it boasts is muted by the fog, lights from the docks and ships pass through the swirling grey and even fainter are those of the oil refinery across the water, but in the summer, it will be beautiful. It is much less than he expects of someone like her. Modest, assuming the money that passes through the casino, making Thor wonder if Thanos takes a percentage, and if that is just one more reason for Loki to fight back against him. Her furniture is plain and looks barely used; no trinkets or photographs anywhere – just pieces of interior design that seem fresh from a catalogue and not chosen by Loki herself. Her office in the casino is _her_. This is less homely than a showroom in Ikea.

“Home _sweet_ home,” Loki says, for the first time sounding tired and a little exasperated. She pulls herself from Thor’s hold and throws her bag onto a chair by the window. Thor stands where she leaves him by the front door, only watching as she wanders over to a connected room. “I’m going to shower.”

Thor cannot find his tongue quick enough to speak before that door shuts with her on the other side of it. She must trust him enough to leave him alone, and she did not ask him to go, so Thor slowly makes his way further into the apartment. He finds a little kitchenette with only the basic appliances. They have been used, but are sparkling clean. By the kettle is a set of delicate china cups piled upon saucers and plates; little bowls and jugs and silver spoons organised behind, the type only seen in charity shops after a death and none of the relatives had space or purpose for a full tea set. Smiling as he traces the rim of one of the cups, Thor wonders if Loki is just the type to play aristocracy in private, entertaining thoughts of tea parties come her retirement. He remembers how his mother prided herself on her fine chinawear, and how he had been tenderly forbidden to even _gaze_ upon it. He had always been hyperactive and hopeless around breakables, and now, even such a gentle touch of his hand could damage or chip the cup.

With the most daintiness he can muster, Thor sets about making tea for two; organising it all upon a tray in how he thinks his mother would. The milk is full fat and smells of cream as he pours it, making him salivate. He has not had such luxuries in a while, passing between the compulsory semi-skimmed in cafes and the white-water of coffee vending machines.

When he makes it back to the drawing room with the tray upon the table, the door Loki vanished behind opens and she steps out. A black gown of western take on yukata clings to her figure, concealing all but a sliver of her clavicle and her feet. Her hair is still damp, brushed back from her face and highlighting the fine sculpting of her bones. She looks regal as she composes herself, hardly the trembling girl he picked from the floor not an hour ago.

“I made tea,” Thor gestures to the table needlessly as he stands beside it.

Loki glances and scoffs, for a moment disinterested as she turns back into the adjoining room. Thor frowns, wondering if that is meant to be his cue to leave and he tries to deny the hurt that creeps with a sour taste up his throat and festers upon the back of his tongue. Yet she returns not a minute later, smiling and paces over to offer him back his jacket.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and leans forwards to kiss him. The tenderness of it steals Thor’s breath for a moment. He feels like a schoolboy met with an exceptionally pretty girl and grins like it too. “You didn’t have to, though.”

“Nonsense,” Thor chuckles and gestures for her to sit on the sofa and waits for her to do so before he himself takes the seat opposite. He had not watched his mother pouring tea enough to not make a mess of it as he does so, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees Loki trying to contain her amusement. “I just did as any gentleman would.”

“ _Gentleman_ ,” she echoes like the word is new to her tongue. “You’re the first I’ve ever met.”

“Hopefully not the last.”

Loki scoffs and reaches to take the cup that Thor slides across the tray. He leaves the sugar and milk for her, preferring this first cup black. “I wouldn’t say that,” she stirs in two spoonfuls and colours it gold before taking a sip to check its taste. She smiles and reclines back, legs crossed.

That one long leg that seems to so love being exposed slides out from its satin confines. Thor is restrained by the memory of Loki’s fright, and how her words reflect upon her resignation to her fate. Such thoughts must dance across Thor’s face as Loki smoothly continues. “You’re the first one to do this for me. Usually the guards just prop me on my feet and leave again, but, it’s nice to be doted upon.”

“…this has… happened to you before?”

“Not _regularly_. But there are always those who react in ways I’m not prepared for. I’ve lost count how many.”

Brows cementing themselves furrowed and low, Thor drinks down his tea in large gulps and ignores the burn of it. He does not know if he finds himself repulsed at the world Loki wallows in, or the fact that she allows herself to remain in it. It is almost tragic, that such a confident, progressive and dangerous woman is as vulnerable as her ancestors had been centuries ago. He wants to spend more time with her, foolishly needing to _protect_ , as well as knowing that Thanos is still out there, large and in charge. But first, he must heed Fandral’s wishes and concerns.

“Will you be alright here, alone?”

Loki looks up from where her gaze had fallen to her cup, mesmerised by a dribble of tea down the glossy floral pattern of the outer rim. A question is plainer in her eyes than could ever be in words.

“I have to return to London. Only be a day or two – I just need to pick some things up.”

“I’ll be fine,” she offers a smile and it even convincingly takes to her eyes. Thor sighs in frustrated confusion, wishing that she could just be honest and prideless: a _woman_ that had no fear in admitting she was scared and needy. But those luxuries have long since been denied to her. Façades are all Loki knows, an art well practiced and perfected. Thor cannot understand it and disapproves because of that. “Do you want to stay the night?”

The question catches Thor off guard. It takes all he has to not clench his hand too-tight around the cup, and just as much not to drop it. For once, candid curiosity is plain on Loki’s features, as alien as her unmade nakedness. For the first time, Thor takes in her face without makeup and finds her just as beautiful. Her lips are a deep pink, skin flushed still with the heat of her shower; her lashes thick and black. That feral beast inside him aches to explore her like this, yet the man his parents nurtured shakes his head.

“I’m leaving early in the morning. You should rest.”

“But, I—”

“ _Rest,_ Loki.”

She nods slowly twice then continues to drink. Thor watches her in silence until his cup is empty. He cannot see the time anywhere, but the sky is dark outside and has him pulling his jacket back on before standing.

“I should get going.”

“Alright,” Loki sets her empty cup back upon the tray and stands. She follows Thor over to the door and stops him before he opens it with her hands upon his shoulders. He turns to her softly, inquisitive as to the touch.

“Thank you,” she says again and leans up as Thor replies, bending down to feel her warm lips against his own. The scent of liquorice upon her is not as strong as usual, but still enough to make him smile and inhale her. Thor steals another chaste touch before slipping out of the apartment and making his way down to find the first available taxi.

 


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is only when Thor tries to get away from The Trickster that he notices how trapped he really is. But perhaps he is not the only one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the story has turned out longer than anticipated so there are now three parts.   
> A big thanks to those who read and liked the first part. Hopefully, this and the third part will be just as enjoyable.

After days on the South Coast, London is a shock to the senses. What he had seen of Southampton had been populated, yet the loudest thing in that city were those docks that he had spent time near. Everything in the capital emitted a racket: people trying to be heard over one another, cars and sirens and very little of nature but the disgruntled coo of disturbed pigeons. Thor grins as he steps out his taxi and breathes in his favourite urban atmosphere.

Navigating through A5G’s security system is a comforting routine. Here there are no fears of being stabbed in the back by enigmatic women… but Thor finds himself wondering as he paces up to find Fandral and the others how Loki is faring without him. He is not entirely pompous enough to think her incapable of functioning by herself – after all, she had clearly stated that she had been through such things before – but he surprises himself in feeling that he wants her to fall apart. To sit at home and await his return, wanting his comfort and security. Perhaps in so doing, Thor could tame her and actually get her to talk about Thanos. To act upon her original proposal.

“Thor! Still alive, I see!”

He turns to find Volstagg, the largest and jolliest of all his friends in the organisation, coming down the corridor towards him. The redhead was a couple years older than him, and had been one of the first to approach the Boss’ son with something more than caution and respect. Pretty much retired from fieldwork once his love for fine cuisine started to impend upon duty, Volstagg had taken to Personnel and made a fine job of it. The dress shirt he wears has its sleeves rolled up, showing to all that he still has significant muscle weight to him.

As they converge, Thor throws his arms around the man in their customary bear-hug. He laughs, “As always, my friend.”

“What’s this I hear about you and the Trickster?” Volstagg pulls back, still grinning and chuckling. His grey eyes harbour something Thor recognises as concern. It is a doubt of Loki, perhaps.

Frowning, Thor pulls his hair back from where it rested, tousled on his broad, suited shoulders. He gestures up the corridor, to where they both knew Thor had to be. He would like get everything assembled and be back on the South Coast sooner rather than later. “Fandral told you then?”

“Professionally, no…” the redhead hollers, as always a little too loud. He is such a jovial character that the dark feeling that lingers about Loki vanishes to familial amusement. Sometimes, Thor wondered if his blonde friend lived vicariously through him; sharing exploits of exotic women as if they were his own. Thor did not mind, any tale was a brick to his reputation and assured that his arrogance was not misplaced. “And Sif is…well… Sif.”

Thor stops with one foot hardly placed upon the ground. He stares at Volstagg as the man continues up the corridor a few paces before noticing that Thor had fallen behind and turning in question. “Sif knows?”

“Yes? It’s just us though. Fandral’s not that feckless.”

Thor worries his bottom lip with his front teeth and catches up with Volstagg so that they can walk again. Loki remaining mostly a secret is a small consolation knowing that his childhood friend is aware of his involvement. Sif is hardly prone to jealousy, having long gotten used to Thor’s habits, but she is the protective voice of reason that he knows he maybe should pay more attention to. He will never hear the end of it when he sees her.

It will not even be much of a surprise if Sif has him withdrawn from service for fears that he has been compromised. Thor certainly feels intoxicated by his new ally. Despite his distraction, the thought of Loki still nibbles at the edges of his thought; he is concerned, and wants to explore her. Even the slightest smell of liquorice – there had been a woman on the train up to London who had consumed a whole box of Allsorts during the journey, making the two hours hell  – and Thor was reliving the touch and taste of her flesh. He has never been so possessed before and it scares him.

Just as moments previous, Volstagg’s animated banter carries them to Fandral’s office and distracts Thor enough that he can function and interact with his friends and colleagues.  Volstagg peels off after another, shorter bear-hug, calling ‘Good Luck’ before he vanishes around the corner to his own department.

Upon entering the office of his blonde administrator, Thor is welcomed with one warm grin and a comment on his – again – continued existence. Sif stands by the long window, turning her head just enough to give Thor a pointed, well-structured judgemental look that he knows too well. She does not even have to say anything to make him shiver. The backdrop of the city makes her look even more severe, silhouetting her sharply-suited figure.

A childhood with the girl, when their parents had been working together for years, had been spent with their strong characters playing off one another, fighting just as much as they adored each other. In her independence, Thor had learned to respect her. Unlike her, he has never viewed her as anything other than a friend, a close one, far preferring the embrace of other women without obligations. It has never turned her cold, but dangerous in her crusade to morally rectify him.

After a succinct introduction of the transmitters and other technologies he is being lent, Thor briefs them of the situation – and goes into more detail this time. He even speaks of Loki’s incident, thinking that not only that blind trust with which she unintentionally revealed would calm part of that pitying, apprehensive doubt that still gleams so obvious in their eyes, but that perhaps in being so considerate, he had earned sincerity in his ally. Fandral takes it with pinch of salt, but Sif loudly disregards the notion.

“How do you know it wasn’t a trick?”

Thor stares at her, gobsmacked into frowning for a moment. For all of her power and presence – he cannot think of someone more suited to be in charge of the entire training programme – Sif has so far led a sheltered life, and could not possibly know what it is like to fall victim to a predatory man. Thor knows he does not, but he has seen enough women to know a few things. “You didn’t see her,” is all Thor has to offer as his explanation.

Sif is not placated in any way and keeps one eyebrow sharply arched.

“Even so,” Fandral slides his voice back into the conversation and he glances between the two of them in the hopes of decreasing the intimidating distance of no-mans’-land formed entirely on looks. “Keep her on side. Just try to stay one step ahead—”

Sif scoffs derisively. Her arms fold over her chest and she turns back to the view out of the window. In a manner, Thor does agree with her. Even getting one step ahead of Loki is a challenge. Staying would be like trying to keep up with a horse in full gallop. There is an intelligence as sharp as any hawk in those green eyes, unlike the instinct and impulse he runs on.

Consumed in contemplating how to act upon his return to the South Coast, Fandral’s voice is lost upon him, as is the ringing of the phone upon the desk. The slim blonde reaches to take it, listening for a moment. It is his frown that finally catches Thor’s attention. He watches as the phone is returned to its dock and Fandral looks at him in bemusement.

“Apparently you have a visitor downstairs.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Thor leans forwards in his seat, preparing to stand. “Who?”

“A woman, not giving her name. But apparently she’s rather beautiful.” A smirk takes to that face though grey eyes expose just a modicum of anxiety. Sif, however, reels, eyes wide and lips pursed tightly.

Thor jumps up and is out of the door and halfway down the corridor before she has the chance to scream at him. He only reaches the lift when her footsteps hammer down in pursuit, and she grabs his shoulder to pull him around.

She hisses at him in a hushed whisper. “You told her where you are?!”

“No, I just said I was coming to London,” Thor replies with honesty and then shrugs. “She’s smart, and she knows of A5G. And besides,” he laughs a little in the hopes that it might dispel the tense and slightly-acrid tasting atmosphere that is drawing attention even when muted. They step into the lift and the doors close again, allowing for the normal volume of their conversations. “We don’t even know if it is her. There are plenty of rather beautiful women tracking me down.”

He just catches Sif’s rolling eyes out of the corner of his own. “She’s quite like you, actually.”

It earns a look of utter indignation, but Thor still thinks it true. More so than a similar colour of hair and height, their confidence and determination makes them strong-willed and independent. He thinks them so similar in fact, that they could either be the best of friends or the very worst of enemies.

A few moments later, the metal doors to the lift open up into the main lobby of reception. A quick scan of the mostly-sparsely decorated room, Thor spots a slender figure leaning against one of the security desks. Clad in black, with her hair a tumble of ebony silk over one shoulder and held back with large sunglasses, Thor recognises Loki immediately. Her clothes are quite modest – at least from a distance – with both her legs covered to the knee and a white-piped mackintosh wrapping the rest of her.

“This is a major security infringement. She is not setting foot past that gate.” Sif mutters and Thor wonders if she is even addressing him. Her eyes are bright with everything that Thor so loves in her. “Actually, I’m of half the mind to take her in.”

“Sif,” Thor sighs and tears his eyes from Loki to glance at his smaller friend. “Leave this to me. I know what I’m doing.”

She nods slowly, that one eyebrow raised again, and scrutinises Loki for all that she is worth. It is the kind of glare that could burn. Thor finds himself grateful that Loki could either not see it, or has not noticed them, as she would never take lightly to such a slander. Although it is perhaps not a slander at all, in the eyes of some.

“I’ll see you when I have to identify your body then.” She says dryly. With a heavy slap to his back, she steps into the lift and returns to work. Her comment leaves an arrogant smirk on Thor’s face – one he needs – as he paces over to Loki.

A few yards from her, she turns and instantly smiles all red and white and utterly gorgeous. Thor finds himself grinning too without realising it.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks curiously, keeping his voice light as to not offend or anger her. She slides into his welcoming embrace and even tilts to steal a kiss that he gladly surrenders. All smooth and so fragrant, only the slight relief in her eyes – and the way her hands cling to his forearms like they never have before – tell of the previous evening.

“I had to see you,” Loki murmurs against his mouth. He can just feel the curve of her lips before she kisses him again – always chastely.

Thor pulls back and loosens their embrace, not wanting to look so obvious or lovestruck where so many could see them. Someone could even recognise Loki and spread the word. “I can’t invite you in.”

“I know,” she responds curtly like he has just insulted her intelligence. Her hands take his and pull to lead him across the hall and to a couple of chairs flocked by faux fern trees. They sit side-by-side, barely touching.

“I could infiltrate your system with ease,” a watery chuckle slides from her lips as Thor tenses, not at all doubting the threat that played in her voice. “But I thought you would prefer it if I played by the book.”

“So, why have you come?”

Loki glances around the area, and whilst there is no one really within ear-shot, she is still reluctant to talk. Only the security guards remain, but like so many in London, they have long since learned to filter out background noise. Thor can see how she worries her bottom lip in her teeth and the uncertainty in her eyes. He wonders if she does not want to speak because she is so deeply private or completely untrusting of A5G’s surveillance system. She would be wise to. There is not one inch of the building that is not monitored either with video, audio or both. Slowly, she takes a breath and lets it out with a whisper. “I can’t face the Casino right now.”

Reaching to take her hand, Thor brushes his thumb against her knuckles in that unobtrusive, soothing gesture again. Her fingers curl to his and she smiles demurely. The instinct to protect swells a comfortable, still novel, warmth in his chest; he pulls her close to plant a kiss to the crown of her head.

\--

Not knowing anywhere else in the city safe enough to take her when he had no idea of what enemies of Loki’s could be loitering in London, or wanting to be seen with her, Thor takes her back to his apartment. It is only a short journey by taxi and Loki does not make a move to pay the driver, only slides from the vehicle gracefully and inspects their surroundings.  It does not irritate Thor. In fact he relishes such a chance to continue playing the gentleman, not that he thinks she actually notices. Her attention is entirely upon the city; amazement of still being in the centre of London, yet it is somewhat quieter, calmer. There are fewer tourists here and more trees. Battersea is hardly as austere as just across the river where they had been, but he loves it all the same. There is something about the hustle and bustle of the place that keeps him grounded.

Thor has not moved since he first left his parents’ house in Sussex. He bought the flat when the building was brand new and made his mark upon it.  Unlike Loki’s ‘home’, it clearly bears all the wounds of having been lived in, though Thor rarely spends more than a few weeks here at a time. Training equipments are strewn about. Weights on the tables and chairs mostly, though the drawing room is hardly the place for a cross-trainer.

Almost every spare shelf and mantle-piece is loaded with photographs. Thor watches silently as Loki shows an interest. Her slender fingers trace the frame of a family picture taken in Cornwall in his early teens. With bright blonde hair and a wide grin, Thor thinks himself easily recognisable, sandwiched between his parents and his infant brother held tenderly in his mother’s arms.

She remains sombre as she continues exploring. Thor cannot begin to imagine how it must feel for her to see families… she must have before, but never like this. Never so… personal. She has probably never set foot inside someone’s home before and perhaps she is jealous or upset.

“Can I… get you a cup of tea, or something?” Thor asks quietly, starting to walk over to the kitchen and letting her fiddle with his things. Like a cat, he supposes that the only way to cure her curiosity is to indulge it.

Almost like she had been paying attention to him the entire time, Loki turns and smiles brightly.  Too bright to be right upon her face. “I’m fine.”

Thor does not presume to know Loki in any way, but he senses that she is withholding something. He assumes it is just another matter of her needless pride, and paces back into the drawing room to sit on the sofa. He sighs, “You don’t have to do this, Loki.”

“Do what?” she questions innocently, evasively, and turns her focus back onto his belongings.

The sigh this time is more like an exasperated grunt. His hands clutch his knees and he stares at Loki’s tapered back. “Pretend,” he hears her scoff and lets it slide. After all, the Trickster’s very purpose was to pretend. “It’s alright to be scared. To want help. What happened last nig—”

Loki sighs now, but it is a hiss. She reels on him, green eyes burning, but not with anger. “You’re the only one dwelling on it, Odinson. Is it really all your brain can manage?”

The bitterness in her voice blinds Thor to anything but the insult. His impulsive nature disregards contexts and aims solely on the slander. “I have nothing else to think about!” he shouts and before he even consciously moves, he is before Loki, using his height in an attempt to intimidate her. Under the circumstances, he would have expected something… but she just glowers at him with those crystalline eyes. “You agreed to give me Thanos, yet you’ve shown no intention to—”

“Politics, Thor. A slow dance. One false move and he’ll kill me.” Loki spits out, all the sugar in her voice now venom. There is no fear in her expression, but neither is there conviction. Thor grabs her arms and jerks her towards him. Still, she glares, and her lips twist wickedly downwards. “Are you doubting me?”

His silence is his condemnation. The fire that burns behind Loki’s eyes rages.

“This is your friends’ doing. Poisoning you against me.”

For once, Thor hears a slight waver in her voice. It is the first inflection of hurt he has heard in her. Suddenly, that need to protect overwhelms and Loki is storming towards the door. In a leap and a lunge, he grabs her waist and presses his forehead to the nape of her neck in an apologetic gesture.

“No… they—I—I just want to be sure, Loki.”

For the most part, Loki is unresponsive to his hold, his words. She does position herself so that his arms slide more comfortably around her, resting on the curve of her hips and hums mutely. A few moments later, she replies candidly, “We can’t do anything when Thanos is out of the country.”

Thor raises his head and starts to pull his arms back, but Loki holds them to her stomach. Brows furrowing, he can do nothing but remain. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Loki shrugs, “I’m not his keeper.”

Chuckling just a little, Thor guides them both back into the middle of the drawing room and pulls Loki down to sit with him on the sofa. He keeps her in his embrace and she makes no move to escape it. Thor thinks that maybe she enjoys the positive attention; the protection it offers her. Perhaps she had never even experienced something like it before.

There is little he can do but follow her direction and try to stay cautious and ready. And he tries to remind himself that the last thing he should do is trust her – even if she trusts him. Or appears to.

Just when the silence was growing comfortable in its age, Loki shuffles around in the cushions to face Thor. One of her legs slides effortlessly over his lap, bringing her atop him fluidly. She straddles him, skirt riding up and exposing those thighs that makes his testosterone boil.

“Loki—” he starts, barely making the two syllables before her lips are upon his. Just as much as the customary liquorice, Thor tastes conviction, determination and desire and cannot find it within himself to push her from him. “Is this what you want?” he asks just to be sure. His cock already twitches in response to her.

Loki smirks against his mouth. Her fingers are already finding all the little buttons to his shirt and teasing them loose. As soon as that job is finished, she slides from his lap and stands before him. Thor is about to follow when she takes the belt of her jacket in hand and unfastens the entire thing and slips it slowly from her shoulders. Rather than a blouse or some other type of garment, Thor is instead treated to nothing but her lingerie: a bra of green silk that makes her eyes seem all the more deeper, and her flesh all the more pale. He sees that it is front-fastening and suddenly feels restless.

When she finally lets the mackintosh fall to the floor, she remains still like a presentation and Thor leans forwards to savour her. His lips trace every inch of the lean muscles to her stomach, warm and fragrant. Her fingers twist into his hair, letting it slip between them as she searches for a place to hold him. Letting his hands meander from her hips, he finds those two little clasps of the bra and carelessly flicks them loose. Peeling it away from her body, he feels like a starved man gifted the ripest, juiciest of oranges. He immediately cups his hands around the supple mounds, squeezing them in the time it takes for his mouth to find the nearest nipple, savouring that sweet, overwhelming taste of her.

Loki does not gasp as much as she sucks in a breath, humming in the pleasure of his eagerness. A little part of Thor is still unsure if he should really do this. She could just be feeling something like obligation; like this is the only thing she thinks Thor wants of her. Yet, when he leans back to survey her, those expressive eyes appear consumed and sincerely so.

Without words, he returns to suckling her breast, changing nipples until they are both pebbled and glistening with his saliva. He worships her for as long as she allows it, standing and stroking his head and refusing to be pulled onto his lap. She bends to him, always so teasingly, keeping her distance as his cock swells and grows with every taste and texture that takes to his tongue.

Locating the fastening to her skirt, Thor strips it from her and somewhat surprisingly, Loki cooperates, also toeing off her shoes. Only those tempting little lace knickers remain on her and he keeps them. She seems unabashed in her near-nudity when he is not, fuelling Thor’s conclusion that she completely true and dedicated in sharing herself.

“Would you like to see the bedroom?” Thor finally asks, half nibbling on her flesh and inhaling that scent so very hers.

Loki laughs that sound that now even feels like syrup tricking arousal down to his groin, so sexually charged with a multitude of promises Thor is impatient to exploit. “Oh, please,” she mutters.

Grinning, Thor pulls her flush to him as he stands. She fits so perfectly to his form, curves of muscle and body correlating. He attaches his mouth back to hers and walks them both through the apartment. Loki devours him ravenously. The fingers she keeps in his hair pull him downwards none-too-gently and it feels like a fight in which he must reclaim dominance. It is so very rare for a woman to challenge him that, for once, Thor lets her reign over him. It feels more invigorating, knowing her so dangerous and his own equal.

Whether it is in irritation or a part of her show, Loki pulls away with her lips twisted into a sneer. She takes a hold of the shirt that remains loose on his shoulders and tosses it away. Thor half expects her to mirror his adoring ministrations, and ripples each muscle as her hands stroke down his chest and stomach. Under no pretence, she undresses him fully and takes his cock in hand.

Thor had thought himself already fully hard, but as those long, delicate digits wrap around his girth, it throbs and he groans. The very sound she has already noted her liking of. She reaches up to kiss the corner of his mouth so slowly and tenderly, as she treats his length to long, firm tugs.

Wanting to share sensation and please, he cups her breasts once again and teases the rosy nubs until Loki shivers and presses against him. Her thumb rubs against the slit of his cock, drawing forth a bead of precum that makes her withdraw.

“Condoms, Odinson.” It is said like a demand. She steps free from any touch he could offer and stares with a feline flatness until he moves.

The desired objects are kept in a drawer beside the bed a few feet away. The box is still mostly full as Thor seldom brought women back to his private home. Instinct has him grab a couple and fling all but one to the cabinet-top. When he turns, Loki has relocated herself, parallel to him on her hands and knees. Thor drinks in the sight of it, from those breasts that hang, the nipples pert and so tempting to twist, to the artful curve of her back into buttocks so ripe – her underwear does nothing but accentuate the shapes to her. But Thor prefers them elsewhere. He wishes he could sculpt her likeness to keep the memory fresh and eternal. But his impatient nature does not allow him to keep staring for long.

He climbs up onto the bed behind her, kneeling between her legs as his hands settle firmly upon her hips. She is almost more beautiful like this, though her skin remains just as soft; hips just as generous. When he takes a moment to think about it, trying to understand (in the hopes of his fear lessening) how she devastated him so, Thor supposes it is purely because of the show of trust. If the last man who had touched her had abused her, this was Loki searching to regain her confidence, her effortless control over men. She must feel incredibly comfortable at his mercy, believing in him though she knew him so very little. Thor feels strangely privileged, rather than used.

He half expects her to shiver like a virgin as he slowly teases her underwear down the curve of her backside and guides it from her long legs. But he can hear her breathing and knows that she is smirking. Her nudity is a sight Thor takes another moment to appreciate. Sex glistening pink, his cock twitches in eagerness and reminds him that the condom still remains un-opened by his knee. The temptation to not even bother is like forbidden fruit but it is not a risk even he is willing to take.

Loathe to even pull away, Thor takes the foil wrapper and tears it open with his teeth. He keeps one hand rubbing little circles into her hips until he needs them both to sheath his length. Instead, he leans to kiss the smooth expanse of her back. She hums louder the more he rubs his stubble against her. Of all things, he expects to find a few scars to tell of her life and experiences, but there are none. There are not even any marks to tell of a carnal existence. Thor would love to leave something upon her – a desire so usually sated upon a woman’s orgasm, but seemed so much deeper with Loki.

She seems to revel in the attention he offers her. Skin shivering under his palm, fingers curling in the bedsheets, encourages Thor to only position his cock against her. He never tires of her back, the taste and feel of it; the view like freshly-laid snow in which he just wishes to play. He continues to caress her, kissing the nape of her neck and nudging her hair to fall over one shoulder.  His right hand travels around the curve of her waist and down, slipping into her slit and toys with her clit in his forefingers. It is hardly needed: she is wet enough already.

Loki groans in subdued pleasure and rocks back against him. Thor is not fool enough to believe her submissive, especially when he steals a moment to realise that how she rubs against him is more teasing and goading than begging. His control is a pretence. It is enough, knowing her comfortable and assured. Maybe one day, he will let himself indulge in a primal fantasy, thinking Loki only as a creature of pleasure.

For now, he raises himself back up and, taking a firm hold of her hips, starts to slide his cock inside her. Remembering her hesitance that first – and last – time they copulated, Thor stops when he is halfway. His hands move to stroke her back, barely able to not paw at her for admission.

Thor half expects that she will make him wait for her response, but Loki is quick to quip, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckles and smacks her backside lightly in a needless reprimand. The way her internal muscles clench and yield is all the flattery he needs. Loki’s hitched breath just stokes his ego, urging him to shallowly thrust a few times, searching for something more. She is reluctant to give, but he does not mind. For Loki to be so easily pleasured would mean so much less fun. Thor loves a challenge, exerting himself, pouring every effort into the muscles he meticulously builds. He takes it slowly, his thrusts growing longer and deeper as they continue.

Never once does she shiver or shy from him; showing nothing less than genuine, voracious hunger for sensation. Loki’s body seems to clench around his shaft whenever he moves back, utterly determined to keep him within. It makes him gasp, burning with a need to consume as he finds himself taken with her. One hand breaks free and reaches for her neck, cupping around her slender throat and tugs her upwards.

A fleeting moment of lucidity and Thor inwardly curses himself, pausing – the gesture is domineering and dangerous; Loki could feel invaded. But her fingers clasp tight around his thighs, holding herself up against his chest. She moans as she helps the rhythm, bouncing on his cock.

“Stop thinking,” she hisses; her nails biting into the muscular flesh that her fingers curve so artfully around. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Chuckling darkly into her ear, Thor tilts his head enough to tease the shell of it with the tip of his tongue. He starts moving again, slowly. “I don’t want to hurt you,”

Loki makes a strange sound, somewhere halfway between a scoff and a moan, but it vibrates beautifully in her throat. Thor traces his hand down its length, between her breasts and just under them, holding her tight against him. In response, she thrusts down harder to meet him. “You flatter yourself again.”

There is only so much goading Thor can take, and after minutes of Loki only just making sounds of enjoyment – such sounds he knew were purely to deny him – his tether is frayed. Briefly, he wonders if she is masochistic, which would explain why she allows herself to live the life she does, and why, despite everything, ecstasy only claims her when Thor pushes her back down to the mattress. Left hand curling around her hip and near-yanking her back onto his cock and the right lost in the mass of sable that now spilled everywhere, Thor pours all his strength into his hips. The effort draws short, heavy breaths into his lungs that he lets out with low grunts that sound like the rumble of thunder in his own ears.

The noises Loki makes are exquisite and muted; all but swallowed by the pillows he forces her into. Perhaps she cannot breathe, and perhaps she enjoys it like that. Her back is shivering, internal walls clenching evermore determinedly around him. Thor soon notices no more than his own bliss and need, pushing her knees further apart with his own and thrusting ever-faster and harder into her. He knows himself close but is enjoying the race too much to let it wash over him.

Loki’s dark nails curl into his red bedlinens, pulling them to her body as she presses back against him, moaning and moaning until he is sure it is his name upon her lips. If only he could hear it clearly.

White clouds his vision, drowning all senses until all he hears of Loki’s climax is a low hum of satisfaction. Her tightness refuses to yield as he jerks forwards, spending himself cleanly, until he can take no more sensation.

Sitting back on his calves after withdrawing, Thor breathes deeply to recompose himself. The sight of her is still enchanting, but different to arousal. His softening length only throbs lazily at the sight of her reddened, sodden sex. She rolls over, flushed all over and sighs with a smile Thor finds that he absolutely adores. It looks like happiness, or at least content. Loki has never looked so at peace, and Thor wants to believe that he is beginning to tame that wildcat.  

Thor’s apartment is high enough in the building that it is only the orangey-light of London City on the whole that seeps in from his open curtains. He cannot quite remember when the sun set, only appreciate now that it had, and the shadows play pretty curves on what was usually a stark and sculptured face. He reaches down to trace the curl to her lips. His free hand slips off the condom and casts it into a convenient bin beside the bed. Moments later, he replaces his fingertips with his lips and fits to her body, blanketing her in lieu of a duvet.

The tender kiss he offers is not permitted for long. Loki pushes his weight from her, but curls to him, hands against his chest. Her eyes are heavily-lidded, and barely just a glimmer of colour. “Perhaps a little flattery is warranted, after all.”

“Only a little?” he cheekily mutters. Every muscle in his body vibrates as he stretches, requesting sleep. Waking early that morning, the journey and every moment without Loki and with her had worn on him. He reads similar weariness in her face. The sparkle in her eyes – that lingering glee – breathes audacity into Thor and he slides his arms tenderly around her form to draw her close.

A smile quirks on her lips; those green eyes finally close in something other than gratification. But she does not deny him. Her legs twine with his own, cool and smooth like snakes. It is strange but comfortable and Thor lazily reaches down to fetch the covers from the foot of the bed.

\--

When Thor wakes, it is slow and gentle. He is not the type to hate such a natural thing or resist it, but enjoys this more than usual. The first thing he notices is the ache in his body from the exertion before its rest. If he were capable of twice as much cognizance, he would ponder a heavy breakfast to make up for all the lost calories, but instead, pressure registers in his mind upon his chest.

Thor stirs, not opening his eyes as he stretches out again, dislodging Loki’s warm lips from his skin. Blindly, he wraps his arms around her torso and feels as she slides up to his level.

“This is your wake-up call,” she murmurs to his lips. The sound does not inspire his lethargy to leave, although he does finally take in the sight of her.

The make-up she had been wearing is smudged and had rubbed off from where she had been pressed into and laid on the linens, hair a mass of black with curls finding their own paths around her face rather than she how usually arranged them. Thor’s lips spread into a little smile, finding her beautiful in her disarray. “What time is it?” he asks in a hoarse rumble.

“Sometime in the morning,” Loki replies as she settles herself to lie half-atop him. Her weight is both warm and familiar to him now; those curves so easy to mould to and hold close. “Have you got somewhere to be?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.”

They lay there in silence for a while. Thor listens to Loki’s steady breathing and wonders what she could be thinking. He can only hope that it does not involve what had happened at the casino, or how he had acted so beastly the night beforehand. His thoughts are still wholly consumed with her when he gives up that pointless venture. He thinks of the smoothness of her skin beneath his palms, and the smell of her now so much subtler through exposure and himself rubbing off on her for the last few hours. He is half tempted to fall back to sleep in the languor of the moment, but his stomach starts to protest.

Squeezing her gently, Thor starts to slide out from under her. “You can shower if you like,” to which Loki just hums noncommittally, “and how does a bacon sandwich sound?”

“Like you’re trying to seduce me,” a smile takes to her lips; a sharp and pretty thing that he reaches to steal with a kiss.

“Is that even possible?”

“I couldn’t say,” Loki rolls onto her back, freeing him to get up. He stands, naked, and ambles over to the en suite, leaving Loki alone for the time it takes him to relieve and wash himself. In the mirror, he sees the marks that Loki’s waking had left upon his chest. He resembles something of a human Dalmatian, wearing patches of all shades of red. Chuckling lightly to himself, they are temporary medals of his virility that he will keep gleefully.

When he returns, she sighs and pushes her hair from her face before sitting up. The sheets are gathered around her chest in a gesture of modesty that makes Thor silently chortle to himself. It feels equally, if not more, ridiculous to find himself comfortable with the entire situation, like it is little more than an everyday domestic occurrence. And if Sif knew just what he had done – left himself open being drugged or otherwise incapacitated whilst Loki ran amok in his apartment uncovering whatever she wanted and could get her hands on – she really would harm him. Even a little part of himself is surprised that Loki had not.

“All yours,” he smiles a welcome before leaving the bedroom in preference for the kitchen and his promise of breakfast.

\--

Thor collapses to the mattress moments after he comes; barely managing to dispose of his soiled condom before he hits it face-first. He has never been so spent, and the thought embarrassingly worries him until he inhales deeply; inhales the rich liquorice that permeates his pillow. Hazily, he reminisces how he had made Loki bite into it the previous evening. And then, after breakfast, how she had stroked him to completion as he made a lazy attempt at coffee. Exhaustion was to be expected after their level of activity, which has to be expected on account of her. Thor has not felt like this since his teenage years, smitten and virile.

He smiles dreamily and does not even have the energy to move as the pillow quickly becomes hot. And even if he did, Loki turns and curls around him to rest her head on the slope of his shoulder and waist. Those elegant fingers idly trace the valley of his spine. As she sighs, Thor can feel the brush of her eyelashes as she blinks.

“Out with it.”

Blonde brows furrow and Thor rumbles a sound of question.

“The question that’s been burning in your eyes the entire time you’re in me.” Loki says smoothly. Her confidence is not only tangible, but thick and Thor feels truly nervous for the first time. He has truly never met a woman like her before. Her soft fingertips feel more like the muzzle of a gun. Who knows where this could go. But the ride should be as fun as her, and Thor is not one to give up before a climax.

Releasing a heavy breath, Thor glances to her, but is only granted a view of her back. Even that is distorted by her hair. The curls and waves are a mess, clinging to skin and strewn across the linens. He will never get over the sight of seeing someone usually so perfectly composed so utterly undone by his hand alone. Almost shamefully arousing.

He has many questions, but chooses only to voice the one that does not expose anything other than curiosity.  Loki has been in London for twenty-four hours now, leaving her casino and supposedly her phone with it. “Won’t Thanos be missing you?”

Loki sighs again. Momentarily, her fingers twist, and it is her nails, not fingerpads, on his flesh. Obviously not the question she was looking for but she indulges Thor nonetheless. “Why should I care? I’m not his property.”

“Won’t he get… suspicious?”

“Of what?” Loki presses a kiss to him, something soft and with gentle suction in the place of teeth. “You’re not my first lover, Thor.” It is almost like they have not spent hours in a battle of passion and control. It makes Thor smile until he feels her lips moving to another inquisition.

“Now, ask me what you want to know.”

She waits – Thor cannot tell how long, only know that his silence is indescribably uncomfortable – before speaking again, this time with more exasperation. “Fine.I was raised in an orphanage,” she starts and Thor does not conceal his surprise upon his face. She can not see it anyway, but it is still shockingly dangerous how well she could read him. How astute she was… and how she was actually telling the truth. “Then I was taken in by those who appreciate budding talents such as mine. They helped me blossom and set me free into the world.”

That was one way of putting it, one blonde brow raised in amused interest. From what he had read of what Fandral found for him, at the age of seven, Loki rounded up the other children into the House’s minibus and stuck an extended exhaust pipe through the rear window. She had been caught and though the children had not actually died, the occurrence still caught the attention of an organisation much like that that taught Thor everything he knew - only A5G operated for the good of the country. Hers worked for the highest bidder. There was very little information on such a group, only that their Establishment was disguised as a private Young Offenders Institution rather quite disturbingly nestled in the middle of a semi-rural residential area. After that, Loki’s story fell from any page, but it was not a strenuous task for Thor’s imagination to bridge the gap between then and now.

“And then?”

“Then I sought out Thanos. It’s not actually a hard task. Liaise with the right men and it’s like a breadcrumb trail.”

A wry smile tugs at the corner of Thor’s mouth. “I should’ve tried that.”

Loki chuckles that sound as thick as black treacle and just as rich. “In a way you did.”

“But usually the trail does not find the tracker.” Thor allows his smile to grow and he gently urges her to move by starting to roll onto his back. She does not resist him, but settles against his chest the moment his back is propped against the pillows. Her fingers resume tracing each dip and curve of muscle. Thor wonders if the never-ceasing fascination is due to her never experiencing a physique like his before.

“I’d hate to be orthodox.” Loki repeats and Thor relives that moment he unconsciously decided that this woman would be a break from all the rest. She would not be his usual dispose after one use because she was not usual.

He smiles and slides one hand down the length of her back to cup around a buttock and urge her leg upwards. “How did you know what I wanted to ask?” he questions quietly.

“I know the look of a man who wants to know me quite well.”

Thor groans as she effortlessly moves her leg up to his hip. He can feel her, hot and still so wet against his thigh. Though his cock twitches interest, exhaustion protests. There is also something intimate and strange in conversing that he does not want to ruin prematurely. It is no longer lustful banter but a discussion between two adults.

“Many of them are met with lies.”

“How do I know if I got the truth or not?”

“You know,” Loki scoffs and taps the ridged muscle above his navel with her forefingers. “Since you already know what I did. You read my file the moment you knew who I was.”

“…are you angry?” Thor asks gently. He denies that it is concern for her but concern for their allegiance that fuels the need to inquire.

“Not at all,” she replies in a light-hearted tone. “Only an idiot wouldn’t.”

To that, Thor cannot disagree. In his line of work, nothing is taken at face value. The cliché was one of the first things he was taught: trust nobody. Thor lived his life by following his gut. He had done quite well by that so far.

“Would you like to know why I tried to kill them?”

The continued whimsy to Loki’s voice should not startle Thor was much as it does. She is damaged and unashamedly so. To treat something so horrid so lightly should sicken him, but whilst he does not know all – perhaps not even half – the things she has done in Thanos’ service, Thor is curious how it all started.  The simple kiss he pressed to the crown of Loki’s head is a go-ahead she awaited.

“They bullied me,” comes the simple excuse that echoes from the mouth of a frightening amount of troubled children. “I was quiet and I read a lot, and they resented that. They teased me; called me pathetic and worthless and that I was never going to find a family because I was a freak,” Thor cannot ignore the hurt that hides behind bitterness. Then he feels her smile against his chest. “But instead of giving up like many children, I rose to their accusations. So I tricked them into hiding in that minibus – some inane little excuse they all bought – and sat and watched as breathing was a skill denied to them.”

Even if words were Thor’s weapon of choice, they have deserted him. He can not condone her actions, yet he can not berate her for them. The way his arms remain around her, unmoving should be enough.

As he starts to stroke her side, Loki shrugs him off and sits up. “You should sleep,” she says flatly with one of her hands to his chest keeping him down. “And I should get back. I didn’t barter my dignity for nothing.”

Features twisting in gross displeasure, Thor reluctantly lets her go. He feels strange as he is usually the first one to rise from bed and so very rarely joins the same woman in it again. It is unnerving, seeing himself changing for a woman about as safe as an irritated viper.

He watches as she dresses, sliding back into those lace knickers that he is surprised have lasted so long in his amorous flurries. And then a matching bra captures her perfect breasts once more. Thor groans quietly, wanting to take them straight off again; to have her again, but appreciates the sight of her nonetheless.

Loki bends to retrieve something from the bag she brought. It is a dress – little more than a chemise of black satin and French lace around the bust. Falling to her mid-thigh, Thor rises from bed and scowls.

“Do you…think that’s a good idea?” he rumbles tentatively.

“…why wouldn’t it be?”

Thor’s jaw flaps aimlessly for a moment, words stolen completely from his tongue. Loki is so nonchalant, looking at him in flat-eyed curiosity. “You—what happened—”

Loki laughs deeply. “Oh, Thor, surely that’s obsolete now?” she wriggles her hips, so coy and seductive. It is obviously she is trying to distract Thor from his pressing concern – not caring for it – and somewhat shamefully, it is working. Thor is entranced with how that black lace feathers around her breasts, and the red marks of his hands on her thighs still visible. “As I said, it’s not the first time,”

Thor blinks, breaking the trance and sits up. “And it won’t be the last, if you go.”

Those green eyes look up at him suddenly like the North Sea: just as deep and just as cold. Thor sees vulnerability on her face for a split second – it is so very different to everything else he had even seen on her. Now he can imagine the little girl that was driven to do such awful things and understand why. He does not see a woman’s fear, though. No pain, no shame or broken dignity… just vulnerability. Perhaps it is another trick of hers, but the way she trains her expression back seems genuine.

Loki saunters up to him, tossing her hair over one shoulder. She is barely composed and covered in a sheen of their combined sweat. With a feline grace she climbs up and across the mattress to stop on all fours over him. “But I have to work, honey, to put food on our table.”

“I don’t want to pick you, crying, off the floor again.”

Loki’s expression does not change. She is totally unaffected by the experience. “But you enjoy playing my shining knight.”

Despite the sarcasm in her voice, Thor replies honestly and throws all caution to the wind. His hands rise to run over the smooth, thin fabric, down her waist and back up to her breasts to squeeze them. “No,” he whispers against her lips and squeezes again harder until her breath hitches. “I just don’t want you to go.

“You want to make a statement to Thanos? Don’t do his dirty work anymore.”

“Thor,” Loki almost growls out. Her eyes are heavier, darker with building arousal. “You’re playing in dangerous waters.”

He hums, finally smiling. “Aren’t we anyway?”

\--

After Loki laid in bed and pointedly pondered the loss of money she had made over the two nights passed, Thor finally relented and agreed to return to the South Coast. Staying in London was a ridiculous notion, especially when Thor realised that it was born of a selfish want to keep Loki to himself. No other man could see her within his four walls, and no other man could enjoy her when she was caught in his bedsheets.

He elected to drive, stealing all the time he could to continue their sojourn, now knowing what to expect upon their return. Loki looked remarkable poised upon black leather. Even if he had never wanted the R8, if Audi used her in its marketing, he would set his sights on nothing else. She wears the only thing she bought with her in her bag that fit snugly into the palm of her hand: that little satin chemise he slipped from her only hours ago.

Luckily, the travel down is mostly straight along the motorway, so he can sneak appreciative glances every now and then. But Loki simply sits like the perfect, quiet passenger. She gazes out of the window at the passing lights and trees. Her eyes fasten onto the countryside that Thor had grown up in. Loki has never had the chance to lose herself in a forest, or get covered head-to-toe in mud on a treasure-quest for truffles. He misses those experiences when he is deep in the heart of London. They are fond memories, of a fun Thor is sure Loki does not even know exists. From her apartment, and what he supposes of her life, she has few hobbies. Other than a penchant for causing trouble.

“Can I ask you a question?” Thor asks, seemingly out of the blue and keeps his eyes fastened on the road ahead.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees how Loki turns to him. A smirk plays on her lips, knowing that he had been thinking of nothing but her. “Well, that depends,”

Pausing for a moment, caught unaware by the blasé and passively threatening reply, Thor readjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He thinks over his question and does not find it as pressing as his last, and even then, Loki had replied candidly. “Why the Casino?”

She makes a sound of interest and confusion, shuffling in the seat to face him with greater ease.

“You said Thanos gave you the Casino—” he stops when Loki stifles a bitter laugh.

“He didn’t give it to me. I received it in exchange for my services.”

Thor chews his tongue for a moment, trying to relocate the words that had been scattered at the sound of her voice. “But why a casino?”

For a while, Loki just sits in silence. Her fingers trace senseless lines on the windowpane. Perhaps the question is too much after all. Thor is just thinking about apologising, to keep her sweet, when she starts.

“I wanted control. I wanted respect, and yet to be feared,” her voice is that smooth flatness that harbours no sugarcoating or cracks for lies to seep out of. She does not look at him but neither does she hide. “I wanted to see joy and sorrow on people’s faces. I wanted to see human nature at its darkest, at its most desperate. I wanted to live a comfortable life, independent and secure. Something legal.

“I soon grew tired of scurrying around after lowlifes; doing fools’ errands for a few thousand at a time. I heard someone talk of Thanos – The King Maker, who could give whatever you want for an obtainable price. I wanted control and he gave me everything.”

Thor nods as she speaks, enjoying the sound of her voice as much as he is stunned by the insight into her life that he was not expecting. A shame she could not achieve all she wanted on her own as – to Thor – the ambition seemed harmless. Loki could live a life out of the shadows and unafraid of any threats that lurk around corners. She must have made enough enemies over the years that they lingered on her conscience.

“Is it worth the price?”

Loki shrugs, more a gesture of discomfort than a reply, and turns to the window. She does not talk again. Respecting her, Thor focuses back on driving until he sees her hands fidgeting on her lap. He had never seen her move like that before, and cannot help but feel that it is his fault. Freeing one hand from the wheel, he places it upon hers and squeezes them gently.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. A smile is offered, and he knows Loki can see it in the reflection she faces.

An hour later and a few miles out from their destination, Loki breaks the silence with a sigh. “I’ll have to find out what I can about Thanos’ movements. But it’ll take a few days – maybe a week, I don’t know when he gets back. Stay at the hotel,”

Thor groans at the prospect of being endlessly bored again. Loki laughs and lays one hand atop his on the gearstick to rub her thumb over his knuckles. “You have unlimited access to the spa – enjoy it.”

“Ah, so how many massages can that redhead do in a day?”

She laughs again and slaps his arm with that closest hand. “What redhead is this, Thor? Should I be jealous?”

“Are you?” he teases and cannot help but wonder if she really would be if he spent time with another woman. He hopes so, always one to love being desired. It catches Loki out, making her pout and jerk her head to the other side, withdrawing from him like an embarrassed cat. “Maybe even that pretty chambermaid—”

“Maybe all three if you’re patient,” Loki silences him like she cut him with a knife. It lodges below his gut and coils heat as he remembers what it is like to be seduced in her guises. A game he would like more rounds of, new situations and characters to be revealed.

“A week,” he smiles cheekily. “I can manage that.”

\--

Thor manages eight days before Loki returns with a sombre expression. She wears no guise other than her hair folded to look shorter under a black beret. Thor lets her into his hotel room immediately and locks the door. She shakes her head when he even thinks Thanos. It was likely somehow that the man had also heard of A5G’s investigation and was lying low. That was a nicer thought than Loki leading him up the garden path.

For a week he has paced the room, unable to find any release but pummelling his way through the equipment at the gym. All to take his mind off the frustration of being stationary, and to avoid the terrible doubt that was growing about Loki. It did feel like his friends had poisoned him somehow, as she had said, and it was spreading; slowly infecting every thought. Yet, when she did not return within days, Thor hoped there was still sincerity. Had there not have been, surely she would keep him dosed up on whatever drug she was. Perhaps that liquorice scent was some strange vapour of an exotic plant that kept him willing and pliant.

Sitting down in one of the two armchairs in the drawing room, Thor expects Loki to settle in the other. But she seats herself snugly upon his lap, far from affectionate but a cat demanding attention. Any gravity is barely a whisper upon her features, instead replaced with smugness and teasing.

Her lips find his ear behind the curtain of his gold hair, breathing hot and moist. “Running a business is so boring sometimes.”

Thor palms her hips, feeling something strange under the sleek black dress she wears. “I thought you were chasing up Thanos?”

“I told you, I bartered too much to just let the Casino go to waste,” whilst Thor could expect the words to be spoken bitterly, they are not. They are of that sugar that makes his tongue swell with desire. “Thanks to you, I had to scam two of my favourite patrons to make up my losses.”

“Have you done anything about Thanos?”

Though Thor cannot see her face, he can feel her lips twitch. They curve upwards as her head tilts enough that she can nuzzle her way through his hair and nibble lightly on his earlobe. “You’ve been so patient, wouldn’t you like a reward before more business?”

“We haven’t gotten down to any business, Loki,” Thor mumbles, determined to find any semblance of the self-control that he has long since disregarded. He needs it as Loki’s clever mouth starts to work down his neck. She is just as stubborn as his body is eager to give up. “I haven’t got forever for this case.”

“All the more reason to enjoy our time together,” Loki purrs and it makes Thor growl. But every kiss is a dose of the poison that she is, infecting and twisting. It is unlike snake venom in how it numbs and tingles rather than itches and burns. A pleasant sensation that just coats every nerve and teaches them only to recognise pleasure.

Thor does not miss the smirk of victory that takes to her lips as he reaches up and tugs the beret from her head. Her hair tumbles down like a stage curtain and his hands immediately lose themselves within it. Intoxicated, there is little more he can do and he is mortified it was so easy for her.

Her nimble fingers find and toy with the buttons of Thor’s shirt. She flicks her nails against them, making stark little clicks that mean nothing but her feline folly. “I didn’t say I hadn’t investigated Thanos,”

That last piece of sense that had climbed to high ground in his mind tried to grasp onto that thought; wanted to press her for it, but in vain. There would be time after their intercourse. In those moments after the act in which Loki was more candid, as if spreading her legs somehow made her more open to sharing secrets. Thor would press then – planning to stay ahead of her.

Laughing lightly, Loki pulls up a little to gaze into Thor’s face. Her lips are redder, fuller and her eyes hazy with brewing lust. “You’ve been so patient,” she coos again and strokes down his face with two fingers. They play against his lips and Thor moves to take the tips into his mouth. His tongue works around them as it has her nipples before. Slowly, the emerald of her eyes is all but consumed in black. “No company at all, I’m told.”

Thor hums affirmation. He is not surprised that Loki would know. A hotel that seems to be open for her convenience would surely be willing to do such a small thing as surveillance. He haspondered over the week passed just how deep her ties with the hotel go. To keep this room free anticipating his arrival for so long would cost thousands of pounds, as well as all the added perks that kept him relatively subdued. Those questions were in no way important enough to trouble Loki with and neither would the answers be of any great importance.

“I’m truly flattered.”

The voice she uses is something Thor is unaccustomed to. It is sweet, and should be far too sickly coming from her mouth, and sound sarcastic, yet it is not. It is a voice that empowers him, gratifying and praising him, and makes every hair stand on end, eagerly awaiting whatever reward her devious mind conjures. He strokes down her neck and shoulders; further to follow the curve of her breasts and finally to her waist. There is a strange texture under the dress that is not skin. The more he rubs her to feel it with his palms, the more Thor recognises it as the mesh-lace of lingerie. A mix of a grunt and a feral groan rumbles up from his throat.

Loki grins, all white teeth and narrow eyes. “Truly flattered.”

As she leans down, Thor surges up to meet her kiss. Hard to imagine he had gone for so long without such a plush touch. The taste of her sweeps his senses and his hands grasp tighter around her sides to draw her close. She moves to the instruction, straddling him and she mewls enjoyment as he plunders her mouth.

Already Thor can feel heat radiating from between her legs. He wants to believe that she too had gone without all this time, though he knows he would not mind so much if she had worked – so long as she thought of him whilst doing so. A silly thought that he knows he should not think. He knows he should not invest so much in their coupling, though it is near impossible not to with just how they do it. It is more than just casual, mutual satisfaction and gratification. New and unnerving for him, whose tastes rarely stayed with the same woman. It is scarier because Thor can read it in Loki’s eyes, and knows that she finds it even more terrifying than him. And a frightened cat is a deadly one.

Loki is never dissuaded though. Before Thor even realises, she has unbuttoned his shirt and her cool, slender hands work wonders across his chest. As she pinches his nipples, his cock starts to twitch real interest. He twines his fingers in her velvet-black curls to gently guide her head to his chest. Her enthusiasm is palpable. One hand on his thigh and the other toying with the neglected nipple, her lips close around one nub to suck and kiss; flicking her tongue andmaking it pebble in moments.

And suddenly the armchair is much too small. The intimacy was desirable – there was nothing he enjoyed more than that heat against his swelling bulge, but Thor wanted her dress off, to see what she was wearing underneath. And now that he had seen her writhe upon a mattress, he wanted to again.

“Loki,” Thor calls to her, loathe to disrupt her from her work – and how obscene she is in doing so, all tongue and teeth like there is a camera watching. He strokes her head to urge her away.

She only moves a little, preferring the definition of his pectorals and upwards. “Bedroom?” The word is said into his adam’s apple. It is said flatly, in that demanding no-nonsense tone he recognises from her, as if even if he had wanted something else they are going to do what she wanted. “What a good idea.”

“Hold on,” he mutters and cups his hands just under her buttocks to support her as he stands. Her weight pales under what he had been lifting in the gym for the past few days and she moans into his neck, seemingly loving this display of his strength. As he walks through the sitting area of the suite, he keeps Loki tight to his body. Her legs have wrapped around his hips and their sexes rub together through their garments.

The fresh sheets on the bed crinkle and crease as he gently lays Loki down on the mattress. She refuses to let him go, grabbing a hold of his collar and tries to bring him down for another kiss, but Thor grins and pulls back a little. When she lets out a frustrated growl and glares at him, he laughs. He has never seen her quite so demanding, and passive, in how she lays still and waits for him to progress things.

Thor is eager to. His sinks to his knees, finding the carpet plush and soft, and takes one foot in both hands at a time to unbuckle the heeled shoes she wears. For once, her legs are wrapped in black nylons but do not detract in any way from her natural beauty. They are something conservative and strange upon her. He traces the length of her legs with his mouth, swapping between them whenever he feels like it. He looms over the edge of the bed, leaning on his hands and looking like a falcon mantling over its kill.

Just past her knees, Thor settles to support his weight on his forearms, to push her dress out of his way. He finds that the nylons are teasingly held up by black straps that lead further up. He has had enough practice to undo the clasps with his mouth. The elastic of the suspenders pings and Loki gasps. The sound of her pleasure increases as Thor nuzzles the soft, sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Like she had with her back over a week ago, she purrs more and louder when he rubs his stubble against her.

Parting his lips to wet them in a single swipe of his tongue, Thor smirks, “You should tell me what you like.”

Loki does not move from where she lays. He cannot see her face over the swell of her breasts, though he can hear a similar amusement in her voice. “I already am, am I not?”

Chuckling, Thor supposes that she is not in the practice of begging, or even requesting when it betrays a genuine want. It was more like her to simply take, though Thor is glad to have this free reign over her. Rather than dominant, he feels like a penitent sinner who must earn forgiveness through pleasing her. He is willing to worship her for her generosity.

In a push and Loki’s cooperation, they remove her dress and discard it to the floor somewhere across the room. Thor stands back to take in the sight of her. Almost all of her is wrapped in black lace. Her breasts, in her position, threaten to slip from green satin cups. The shape of the lingerie is only ruined by the looseness of the bottom, where the suspender straps are twisted and distorted around her hips. She wears a different kind of underwear, for once. They match the main piece, but reveal more flesh of her hips and thighs. The gusset is tinted darker by her arousal.

“You should tell me what you like,” Loki murmurs. Thor is staring hard enough that he cannot miss how she spreads her legs just a little further in an invitation.

He smirks again, and licks his lips in ravenous hunger. “I’m trying to decide,” he replies, letting her humour slide. “whether I want you naked or not.” As he speaks, he is unfastening trousers and dropping them to the floor blindly. Loki shares his desire; her eyes roaming every inch of his skin as if her hands had not done so last week. Thor remembers the feel of such exploration. He still bears the marks of teeth and nail, albeit fading now. His breaths shorten and his cock is fully erect.

All those times, she had been completely bared before him. The texture of her skin was silken and familiar, but Thor wondered what all that fabric would feel like. Perhaps the barrier would frustrate her, and leave her somewhat unsatisfied so Thor would have to try a little harder, exert himself in order to please her, placate her and earn the favour of a few truths.

“I’ll have you like this,” he finally decides and makes a show of taking in the sight of her. Slowly, he descends to the mattress, kneeling between her legs to kiss along the valley of her breasts to her collarbone. “First.”

Loki laughs, more like treacle than ever in just how dark it is, and twines her long fingers around the back of his skull. Her lack of comment betrays her enthusiasm. For him. Thor starts to feel that maybe, maybe, what they have is not so scary. Maybe it is an entirely natural thing that goes beyond anything they think they are capable of, but is a freely-flowing course. It will guide them to where they are going and all they need do is enjoy.

Audaciously, Thor fastens his lips to one side of Loki’s collarbone and sucks gently. It is just enough that she could push him away if she chooses to deny him the honour of marking her, but she does not. Thor is deeply surprised but not off-put. He sucks harder, making the finished product darker and starker against her. It is the first – of many if he has his way.

When he is finished, Thor kisses the blotch and explores his way down her body again. His hands trace the curves of her sides; intermittedly rubbing and tickling down to make her convulse into him and groan her eager receptivity.  One settles upon her waist. The other slips between her legs and teases the covered seam of her lips.

Positioning the heel of his palm where her clit is, Thor presses down and moves in tiny little circles that only she would really notice. He squeezes a few times before dragging his fingers up to the hem. Loki’s impatience is as evident as it ever had been; she raises her hips without instruction and tugs his head up to kiss him. The contact is messy, as she only catches the corner of his mouth, but wholly gratifying. Thor only manages to pull her briefs down an inch or two before that hand is in Loki’s hair, pulling her head back to an angle in which he can dominate the kiss. The passion makes it seem so hasty, yet they go on until they are breathless.

“Get a condom now,” she hisses into his lips. Her voice is like velvet draped over shards of glass, but amuses him enough to chuckle. Imagining her demanding, impatient beyond thought, for his cock is delightfully easy, though so far, she never had. But so far, Thor had not spared the time to tease her like this. He pulls back suddenly and she makes a sharp sound of her displeasure.

The nearest pack is on the cabinet by the TV. It is only across the room, but the distance seems so daunting. Not trusting himself with self-control, Thor pretends that Loki is not there, wet and waiting for him. One glance behind and he would simply turn back, to recklessly indulge himself in the feeling of her around him with no hindrance.

Only when the box is in his hand does Thor turn to her. She has propped herself up by her elbows, flushed and heaving and those eyes staring like a shark’s with one sole intention – to consume. He takes a step forwards and she arches an eyebrow.

“Put it on,” she all but purrs.

Thor’s lips quirk upwards. He picks one wrapper from the box before he casts the rest to the empty space on the mattress by the pillows. Pinching it between his knuckles, he pushes his boxers down. The eyecontact they share is only broken as Loki’s eyes wander down to his swollen cock. She makes a show of licking her lips, so lewdly yet so very enthralling.

He is just as willing to tease. Free hand wrapping around his shaft, Thor strokes himself slow and leisurely. Pleasure bubbles up and settles in his gut – more than any other time because a fire ignites in Loki’s eyes and he knows that she is impatient and jealous.

Amused, satisfied and zealous, Thor makes quick work of the condom’s wrapper and sheaths himself without preamble. Loki reaches out for him with one hand, beckoning him without words. The curl of her fingers fits perfectly around Thor’s neck and she pulls him towards her, aiming for a kiss that he denies her. She grunts indignity, but he chases it from her with nibbles and nips along the line of her jaw.

Despite her hold, she does not direct him. Thor grins as he kisses her exposed flesh, exploring as he feels he has always fantasised. Parts of Loki do not taste like others. Some are sweet, that liquorice, and some are more salty, like how she had tasted when Thor had kissed her neck in the afterglow of one of their many rounds in London. For the first time, he laments his decision to keep her clothed. He loves her stomach, where the muscles are firm and quiver for him. He feels every breath that moves as fluid as he knows her hips do. Such things are not lost under satin and lace, but the smoothness of her flesh is missed. Thor finds solace in how he can smell her arousal so close and feel it so warm against his chest.

“Loki,” he growls her name as he slides that little bit lower. His shoulders force her legs further apart, but she does not struggle. She is flayed open like butterflied meat for him yet in no way is she vulnerable or passive. As he looks up, she is still staring at him. The curve to her lips is predatory and demanding.

Thor bites the hem of her briefs and tugs them lower yet. Her slit is completely revealed, glistening generously as her fluids spread with her enthusiasm. When he can reach the fabric, Thor finishes the job with one hand. Its twin slides languorously up one leg to tease along her inner thigh.

She breathes heavily yet says nothing. Thor positions himself with his spare arm now supporting his weight from beside Loki’s hip. He can see everything of her; able to flick his eyes from her pretty face to her sex as his fingertips part her lower lips. All the temptation is there for him to dip his head and sample a new taste of her. He has only done so a few times – with girls he knew to be virgins. Loki does not seem to expect or desire such attention from his mouth. Her lingering grip on his neck pulls him upwards as if she doubted Thor’s resolve to only offer her his fingers.

Laying his head upon her stomach, he teases one fingertip around her hole before gently slipping inside. She does not tense or gasp, but hum around the intrusion and clench to feel more. He continually slides back and forth, only allowing that single digit until she makes a noise of frustration and her sharp nails bite into his skin.

“Tease me and you will regret it, Odinson.”

Were Thor a more patient man, he would provoke her, enquire as to her threat and perhaps taunt her with its hollowness… but he suspects that whatever Loki promises is not something he should take lightly. Sliding up her body and chuckling as he does so, he presses a kiss to her mouth and adds another finger inside her.

The wet-silk walls clench again, wordlessly inviting him in further, deeper… and maybe just goading because his cock could fill her how she obviously desired; like these fingers could not satisfy her. Thor knew how to satisfy every woman.  Feeling just a little more comfortable in this dominance Loki was seemingly allowing him today, Thor falls easily back into routine. He will make her come like this, make her sing and maybe then, see if he can finally make her beg.

He curls his fingers, finding the internal bundle of nerves that makes her hum louder than ever before. Grinning fiendishly, Thor pulls up enough that he can look her in the eye. “You like that?”

“More,” she snaps and cants her hips towards that invading hand.

Wanting her maddened, Thor pulls back his hand a little. Only his fingertips remain inside her, more rubbing around her entrance than penetrating it. Loki is almost obedient in how she lowers her hips again. Thor smirks, seeing it only as a compromise, compliance under duress, but he rewards her all the same.

Her sweetspot is something of a magnet to him now that he does not miss. Adoring it in all manner of ways, with a rhythm but no sense of true consistency. He builds to a crescendo cut-short that has Loki tense with the promise and sag with the disappointment.  Each time she groans. Her voice had started amused and willing to play his game, but now she bites back spiteful words, growling out his name. Thor does not miss how her nails curl in the starched-white linens and easily surmises that she wishes it was his flesh. Her frustration is beautiful; as much as a reward as he will find any of her releases.

“Tell me,” he rumbles, grinning and shuffles up carefully to nibble the exposed valley of her breasts. “Tell me what you want,”

One of those clawed hands wraps around the back of his neck. The nails bite, but not painfully. She could easily hurt him, if only she was not simply impatient for the orgasm he withholds. When Thor glances up, he sees her eyes are much, much darker with lust than they had ever been before. And her lips are as twisted and sharp as brambles. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

Choosing that moment, Thor presses his fingers hard against her, rubbing at speed before ceasing seconds later.  “Tell me something I don’t know,” he presses the words between kisses into her clavicle.

Loki grins, genuinely amused enough to laugh. Despite being tainted with her continually denied pleasure, it sounds so pure. Thor finds himself smiling, admiring this exposed side of her. It fuels his resolve to drive her out of her shell – the woman underneath is breathtaking.

Her hand slides languorously down his neck to his shoulder blades. She favours one and doubtlessly leaves five red crescents there. “I’ve sat for days in my office imagining you visiting me,” she speaks quietly, breathlessly and somewhat haltingly as she finds herself disarmed by his ministrations. “taking me over my desk, on the floor, on the couch.”

Thor hums in enjoyment, utterly affected by her words and the images they provide. “And yet you had me stay here.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so, obedient.”

“Are you disappointed?” he asks gently into her collarbone; eyes closed to savour that sweet taste of her. Just as softly, he teases her from the inside.

“On the contrary,” Loki says in an exhale. Her back arches into his chest, and Thor can tell it takes so much effort for her hips to remain on the mattress. “Makes me wonder, what else I can, have you do.”

Smirking, Thor curls his fingers that little bit harder again. “Question is now, though, what can I make you do?”

“Not beg, that’s for sure.” Loki goads him with her smile.

Thor withholds a growl but resigns himself to her conviction now. Nonetheless, he refuses to be defeated. Unreserved now, he stimulates her and slathers her revealed flesh in kisses. “Some day I will.”

“Some day, perhaps,” she pants, groaning the more he presses and strokes. She barely moves her hips, shivering up until the moment orgasm sweeps through her and snatches control away. Just as before, her voice loses its sugar, becoming a simple melody that lilts and fades into the charged air. The way she writhes against him is gloriously arousing. A thigh brushes his cock and he thrusts against it, starved of physical sensation for much too long.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs and slides up her form. The hand that had worked so hard slides free from her constricting body and draws her thigh up to his side. Simply settling himself into the quivering cradle of her legs with the head of his cock held in position, Thor plants countless little kisses around her mouth so she can regain her breath. “Can I?”

“Beg me.”

“Some day, perhaps,” Thor chuckles and leans to kiss her smirking lips with force. He ravishes her mouth until she hums in delight and starts to fight back. Her nails drag down his neck so she can adjust her position to lock her arms under his, pulling him tight to her body. His nipples rasp against the embroidery of her lingerie in a way he has never felt before. A new texture that keeps whatever they have, whatever this is, fresh and exciting. “You wanted me to take you, I’m going to.”

Conscious of how tight she is going to be so soon after climax – though not wanting to show it – Thor presses his hips down, sinking his cock into her smoothly and releases a indulgent sigh like he was gifting her with his length.

She takes him easily, relaxing around his shaft. Her legs curl around his waist, pushing him even further. Smugness remains on her face, but it has softened with pleasure. After a few, long and deep slides inside, Loki is smiling and cranes her head to engage Thor in a tender kiss. It surprises him, seemingly so misplaced from her lips. They were designed for cold words and trickeries, not stoking a warmth in the pit of his stomach that has him reaching up to card one hand through her hair, stroking and adoring that part of her. The kiss is as slow as their movements – all thought of beastliness now vanished – and as fluid, as in sync.  

“Loki,” Thor murmurs, releasing her bottom lip for the moment it takes him to breathe in and breathe that word. Strange to think that only weeks ago, his tongue had never experienced it, yet now the name was the only thing that possessed it.

She hums and nudges him with her nose, searching for another kiss. He could remark upon her gentleness but he is loathe to ruin this. Even her fingernails spare him. She clutches at his back, lifting herself to him when he cannot spare the leverage.

Sliding his free hand down her thigh and around the curve of her backside, Thor holds her close. He can feel her vertebrae move under his palm and thinks of how vulnerable she seems. His weight could crush her and her skin looks as if it would easily bruise with the wrong touch, or a grasp too firm come climax.

He breaks from that second kiss and presses his forehead into the crook of her neck. Almost gasping for breath, Thor rolls them over without regard but is thankful when he feels that the edge of the bed is still a few inches away. Loki immediately settles into place atop him. Their legs are entwined, locked and rub together as she slides to impale herself upon his cock. Like this, he can find the little clasps to her lingerie and start to unfasten them.

“Whatever happened to the promise, of a second round?”

“One at a time, Loki” Thor counters with a husky chuckle. He relentlessly undoes all the clips and peels it away from her.

She does not stop him and somehow manages to raise herself up like a cobra to discard the garment completely, but never once loses that languid rhythm of their joining. Her flesh is warmer now as they meet, dewy with her former strain. Thor re-explores every inch of her that he can reach. His favoured areas for now are the firm mounds of her bottom, perfectly shaped to clasp in his fingers and guide her to move with more force. Her fingers slide into his hair as her forearms keep her positioned, leveraged to push down on his length.

As fulfilling as the ginger rocks are, they soon become not enough. There is a hole in his stomach that Thor aches to heal, pressure between his legs that needs release. The need for Loki to finish first burns even brighter.

He adjusts the angle to her hips just a little, making sure her clit now rubs against his pubic bone every time she slides up and down his shaft. She hisses her enjoyment. White teeth sink into her bottom lip, worrying it as she smiles.

Almost too soon, she loses her control and rhythm, tossing her head and moaning in increasing pitches. It is likely she can be heard from down the corridor, but any thought for other guests of the hotel never crosses Thor’s mind. All he wants from her is louder, simply more.

When her pretty red lips start to curl around the sound of his name, he knows her close. Clasping tighter to her buttocks, Thor bucks up into her, all strength and stamina poured into his hips. The only reward he seeks is the grip of her internal muscles that makes him release a gasping grunt when she comes. Loki writhes as Thor continues to plunge into her, panting breaths that could have been words into his neck.

He only lasts a few more thrusts before he climaxes; sliding long and deep into her tight body until he is spent and falls from her to the mattress. Loki remains; legs spread and mouth pressing little kisses to his neck between breaths. Though he cannot understand her sudden tenderness, Thor is willing to simply enjoy it, and maybe be swept up in it too.

He traces his hands up the tantalising curve of her back, keeping one at her waist and the other ventures into her hair.

“Can we still do this after we take care of Thanos?” Thor asks gently after a couple of minutes and his faculties’ return.

Loki’s kisses and breaths immediately stop. She raises her head with a strange expression that takes a little while to clear into a smile. “We’ll see.”

He tries to pretend her evasive reply does not hurt. He cannot even fathom why it would. There should be no attachment, he knows and he cannot even tell when it even formed. It is more than just sex now, and he had thought the same for her.

Just as he is questioning everything of her behaviour in the sex, Loki brushes her fingertips across the contour of his lips with an air of lament. “You’d not want me as a lover, Thor. Not with what I do, what I have done.”

“Loki,” Thor uses the hand in her hair to bring her down for a kiss. The moment their lips make contact, he rolls them back over to lay side by side on the cooling sheets. “I don’t care.”

She stares at him with her green eyes deep and turbulent. Thor wants to study them every morning and every night until he can read them. For now, they seem conflicted and he leans to kiss her again as if it would turn the balance in his favour. She only accepts the touch for a moment before she pushes against his chest to withdraw.

“We’ll see.”

It is in no way enough, but Thor gives in and simply nods. Already, he is convinced to prove her wrong. The thought does waver in his head - he is not entirely sure he can accept any lover of his practically selling herself and Loki herself is hardly the trusting type. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, even Thor questions if he is actually capable of monogamy. He has played with the ideal a few times and never committed. Loki is the best reason he will ever find for it, he knows that somehow.

After wrapping of the soiled condom in a tissue to get rid of later, he coils his arms around Loki’s torso. She curls to him as she usually does and it is almost like he had never ruined the afterglow with his question. Cool fingers play lines and beats on his chest, so calm and familiar that it only takes a little of his feeble imagination to replace the hotel room with his own bedroom, or maybe a bigger bedroom in a nicer house out in the countryside Loki had been so fascinated with on their drive down from London.

He blinks a few times to dispel the silly fantasy. He was never really one for whimsy, preferring the present where he could actively seize opportunities and create his own fate. His mission was to neutralise Thanos, and after that would come the time to catch and keep the Trickster.

“What did you find out about Thanos?” Thor asks quietly as he rearranges Loki’s hair so none of it obscures her face and shoulders.

She looks up wearily, though her eyes betray a certain measure of sharpness. “He’s still out of the country.”

“Do you know where?”

“Europe I believe. Maybe the Middle East. It’s really a need-to-know basis with him. And if you’re seen asking too many questions...”

Thor understands. He has known and heard of many spies getting ratted out and removed. There was never any mercy, never any forgiveness in this game. Before he realises, he has gathered Loki closer to him, and strangely she allows it. Her head nestles between his neck and the pillow as if it makes her feel slightly safer, like a kit searching for warmth and security. She does not come out again. Thor feels like he has exposed something within her that she is not ready to share again. Whilst she does not fidget like she had in the car, Thor can feel little muscles in her shake. But he does not want to question, only moves her enough to slide her under the duvet.

“I’m just going to make a call.”

She hums that she understood and makes herself comfortable in bed. Those green eyes follow him as he leaves the bedroom, both come-hither and yet tired. Thor pulls the door to and sits down at his laptop to contact Fandral. As the cursor hovers over the button he needs to press to start a video call, he glances at the bedroom door. The walls were not soundproof even if the door itself was shut. This mistrust in Loki makes him feel sick, but A5G would never forgive him if he breached such a simple security measure for such a pathetic reason as emotional attachment.

Decided, Thor writes an email instead. Stating very little - as Loki was saying nothing, he is sure to add - and questioning what he should do now. Abandoning the case is out of the question, though Thor is wondering if this is a job for more than just himself. Someone without contact to Loki, fresh and untouched by her toxins. And perhaps with someone else chasing Thanos, they could spend more time together. But Thor knows he is not that kind of man, able to lay back and let someone else do the work. He suspects that Loki wishes he is.

When he returns to bed after sending the message, Loki has turned over. She is not asleep, but must be close to it as she barely reacts as he slides in behind her. Thor snakes his arms around her waist and pulls himself flush to her back. Pressing a light kiss to the exposed nape of her neck, he settles down and smiles when the last sense he registers before darkness is the scent of liquorice.

\--

When he wakes, the sheets beside him are cold. Evidence of Loki only lingers there: black hair and smudges of mascara. Thor is not surprised, not after over a week of waking alone. But he remembers those fews times in London; being able to lie and watch her for a while before those green eyes cracked open with weary suspicion. Perhaps she thought it silly and undesirable, but she never voiced anything. He rolls over and stretches in preparation of getting out of bed. Propped up against the polished chrome base of the bedside lamp is a note from Loki. Far from the usual gold cards she leaves, it is just hastily written in pencil on the hotel notepad that had been positioned on the cabinet top since he arrived.

Picking it up, Thor brings it closer to make out Loki’s small letters in the dying light. Without looking at a clock, he surmises it is evening, and the note says that she had gone back to the Casino. She states that she will try to return to him as soon as she can. There is something in the way that last part is slightly less neat than the rest that makes Thor smile, like she found the words difficult, or at least embarrassing to say and had to write them quickly or they would forever hide in her head. He replaces the note gingerly and stares up at the ceiling.

Loki will not be back for hours. He ponders having a shower, but thinks it would be far nicer to share one when she returns. There is always food to occupy him, but the bed is warm and soft and Thor does not trust himself enough to stay awake whilst they prepare whatever he orders. He is tired from days of mindless boredom. It is enough for his eyelids to slide closed once again and he turns to his side to inhale the last vestiges he can find of Loki on the sheets.

Admittedly, he has no concept of time as he sleeps, but when there is a knock at the door, Thor jolts up and immediately thinks it is a little too early. The clock only just reads Eleven. Loki could have made her day’s profits and left early, he supposes and slides from bed. As an afterthought, he lazily shrugs on the bathrobe left hanging on the back of the chair in the bedroom.

When he opens the door, there is a woman standing there. She has long, wavy blonde hair; attractive, sharp features set upon fair skin, and bright green eyes. For a moment, Thor pauses and scrutinises her, suspecting - with amusement - that this is one more of Loki’s personas. But a softer jaw, blonde brows and the lack of about a foot in height tells differently. In her hands is a silver tray topped with an ice bucket and champagne flocked by two, plain flute glasses.

“Miss Loki ordered this for you,” she smiled. Pretty in the hotel’s uniform suit, Thor is surprised with himself in how she does very little for him. Appreciation, he has, but nothing more than one feels for fine art. Despite this, he keeps his hands in his pockets as he invites her in,

“Where is she?” he asks, watching her as she places the tray upon the table between the two armchairs in the sitting room.

The blonde then sets the glasses out, and Thor thinks it strange that the champagne is already opened.

“She won’t be long,” comes a reply with another smile. It, and the candy-colour to the woman’s lips seems sickly sweet. “She’s just seeing the Duty Manager.”

Something in the way she said those words makes Thor frown. A bubble of jealousy forms in his throat: something he has only ever felt over objects. Never women.

The blonde smiles again, leaving her delivery. “Goodbye, Mr. Odinson.”

He grunts, distracted in his darkened mood, holding the door open for her to leave. She does so in a strut, slim legs in a short skirt and he contemplates calling her back. But Thor cannot. He cannot bring himself to approach this woman, have her, and see if Loki too would taste the bitterness of bile and the shame of finding herself so attached. A fantasy, perhaps, but still some part of Thor wants her to find him with another woman just so he could see, just so he could know that what he thinks they have is real.  He could never be so cruel.

Once alone again, Thor collapses down in one armchair. Any delight over his afternoon with Loki is stolen away. He stares at the champagne as it bubbles away in the green glass, waiting for the second knock to come. He suspects that Loki’s seeing the Duty Manager involves something to do with the room he stays in, and cannot help but think it involves services in exchange of. He would pay for the room himself, rather than see her prostitute herself for him. Jealousy morphs into disgust and then concern.

He wants to take her away from this sordid life she leads; place her in a nice home, a good life and watch her blossom around people that were not going to use and abuse her. That fantasy is the most ridiculous of all. And Thor knows it. He scoffs derisively and reaches to pour himself a drink and nurses it between two hands. The glass is delicate and warms quickly under his hands, reminding him both of Loki’s chinawear and her own skin. The alcohol does nothing for that thought.

The longer he sits and waits, the more Thor drinks. Because he cannot trust another man with Loki for long, even if they were just talking. The jealousy returns: he wants her for himself, not some faceless man’s castoff.

His head starts to spin and it comes too soon. Different to the drunkenness he knows well, and the nausea that sometimes accompanied, Thor feels fear. The corners of his vision blur, blackening as the back of his throat starts to burn. The muscles contract, constricting his air intake, worsening his already flighty grasp on consciousness.

Poison, he thinks with lessening lucidity. His hands shake as he tries to raise them, to try and make himself vomit in the hope of purging what had not yet already infected him. But they betray him, remaining limp on his lap. Paralysed, Thor wonders who and why. And the answer is one word;  a truth that blonde woman had already given him.

Loki.

Suddenly her unwillingness, her pure evasiveness, to fulfil her original agreement of taking him to Thanos makes sense. She never had any intention of it all. He has been tricked.  All this, what he thought, is a game. In her feline mannerisms and nature, Thor has found himself the mouse. And now she has grown bored of playing with him. Strange, he had always thought her more of a personal killer--


	3. Part III

“Oh god,”

The words come like a whisper in a thick mist, both disorientating and curious. Thor thinks he hears panic, the tone of it choked. He feels warm hands, cold water on his face and a plush carpet underneath him. The smell of vomit is strong in the air, sour, and it twists his stomach.

“Thor, _please_ ,” another splash of cold on his face and another hand smoothing back his hair.

Consciousness floods back into him, grabbed by his senses and he wakes with a start. He gasps for air. The burning of the poison in his mouth is replaced with literal bile. That light-headedness is barely an unpleasant memory; Thor feels distanced from himself and takes a few moments to realise there are arms around him, and a face pressed into his neck.

“I thought—”

Slowly, Thor makes sense of what his brain is trying to digest. He is alive. The smell of liquorice is strong. “Loki,” he croaks as soon as the name crosses his mind. He has no strength to lift his limbs to push her, only able to brush his wrist against her hip.

She understands and draws away. Her bottom lip is nearly bleeding from her teeth worrying it; her eyes stained red and her makeup has bled around the corners. Thor frowns, both at the sight and that last thought he recalls. If nothing else, this is the most genuine he has ever seen her: fear she cannot hide and relief she does not want to.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Loki murmurs, only meeting his gaze for a second before she looks down at his chest. The delicacy of her, Thor wants to capture. He may never see it again.

Shame creeps into Thor’s mind the more he regards her. How he could think she could poison him, when she had been so gentle, so loving? The woman he sees now is the girl he can imagine before the crime she committed. That shame just rises and boils until he has to look away.

The hotel room is a mess. The table that the champagne had been on had toppled over; its contents strewn around and mostly covered with vomit. He is in no better state. “Looks like you’ll need another meeting with the manager.” Thor tries to chuckle, but his throat is too sore and he just ends up coughing.

“What?”

Looking up at her, Thor finds her brows deeply furrowed in bewilderment. “The woman who brought the drink, said you were talking...” he trails off as Loki’s expression darkens. Her lips twist downward sharply.

“That _woman_ is called Amora. She works for Thanos.” she pushes herself to her feet, casting the wet flannel she had been holding to him on a cabinet top.

“...How did she—”

“Can we get you cleaned up first?” Loki interjects like a tolerant mother. She is smiling, but her eyes still shine relief, wariness and disdain. “You look absolutely frightful.”

Thor feels it, too, and needs her help to get him to his feet. The task is complex and laughable, with his stature and muscle weight and Loki’s svelte frame. Somehow, she gets him into the bathroom, strips the soiled bathrobe from him and arranges him in the tub.

“I thought I was getting myself into being your lover, not your nurse,” she laughs quietly and kneels on the cold tiles. Thor chortles hoarsely, watching as she leans across to turn the taps on. They sit in silence as the bath fills. The warm water breathes life back into Thor’s body. With the smell of vomit lessened, his stomach’s churning settles to simmer and he starts to feel himself again, but his head still feels heavy.

“What about this ‘Amora’?” he asks after a little while. He half expects Loki not to answer.

Grabbing another flannel and dosing it in soap, Loki starts to wash Thor’s face clean. “I suppose Thanos finally caught wind of your investigation, and he sent out his attack-dog.”

Thor frowns because if Thanos knew about him, he knows about her. Old fears over what happened to traitors set back into his mind. Their threat has tripled now. “Will he... try to attack you?”

“Not through Amora,” Loki replies flatly. It is not quite smugness, or confidence, but something she will not tell him. They are probably words or a confession that digs her deeper into the world Thor hates. Perhaps Thanos has already told her what he will do with her. Perhaps she has known for a long time.

Thor takes her hand, turning it around to kiss the soft flesh of the back of it. “Will you let me protect you?”

Those full lips curve upwards, half a smirk and half something warmer. “I save your life, you save mine – that’s how you moral types work, no?”

“You saved my life,” he affirms with another kiss. He cannot help but admit that the words taste strange – though they are not foreign - not only considering how he had thought her guilty of trying to take it, but also that Loki is not in the practice of conserving life.  The thought that he is changing her as much as she has him is comforting, and welcome. “Thank you.”

Loki sighs, dismissing his gratitude entirely. “Amora called me at the Casino when she left you, to taunt,” she is trying to clean his lazily-growing beard with the flannel and it is doing nothing. She gives up and lathers the soap through with her fingers. The sensation is pleasant, and Thor languidly teases one hand up the sensitive skin of her inner forearm as she works. “I got here as soon as I could and made you bring up as much as you could.”

Thor looks up at her face. It has softened again, telling of a reflection on what if Thor did not wake up.  No longer does he think that the most stupid thing he could ever do is trust her – he knows it would be telling her that even for a moment, he had thought she had been behind that poison. With the expression she wears now, Thor knows that should she find out, the knowledge would crush her. At least, he wants to believe so.

“Hey,” he calls to her gently. He takes her face into one hand, brushing his thumb across her cheekbone. “I’m okay.”

Loki does not reply. She purses her lips as the bottom one threatens to tremble. Her need to hide is endearing and enthralling, because one day Thor will strip it from her. He wants her soft, and he wants her vicious. He wants everything of her and draws her down for a kiss.

The touch is chaste and as soft as Loki had been the last time he kissed her. Lips smooth and plush, like the brush of Spring petals, warmed and fragrant. She pulls away, eyes heavy and smiling. “You’re still filthy.”

“Undoubtedly,” Thor raises both hands to unbutton the simple blouse that Loki wears. She glances at him with one eyebrow raised and continues to wash down to his shoulders. More than her spoiled makeup, her clothes are in a state, dishevelled and he wants to pretend that the stains do not originate from his stomach contents, or lack thereof. “As are you,” he finally replies.

Chuckling, she sits back and removes her clothes with no performance and slips into the bath with him. The tub is narrow, but she can just about kneel between his legs to keep on washing. Thor does not think he could have possibly been so terrible as to warrant such a thorough seeing to, but he has never been able to deny himself the offered touch of a woman. All the while, he kisses her, running his hands over every inch of her body. The curves of her hips are warm under his palms. With hands skimming her waist, Thor urges her closer. When the world is still swimming around him, the feel of her is familiar and concrete. He cups his hands around her breasts, stroking the smooth, soft flesh in lieu of returning the favour.

“You taste disgusting,” Loki murmurs against his lips. She is smiling and she brushes the corner of his mouth with the pad of one thumb. Before he could even collect his thoughts to reply, they connect again with no reluctance.

More than ever, Thor _appreciates_ her. The beauty of her form; the mischief in her kisses, and how a moment like this is one of the most erotic things he has ever experienced, yet it is not sexual. It could have just been his physical state controlling his limitations, but to him, it felt all the more special. All the more precious. He has never shared anything like this before.

Their tongues dance and twist around each other, making pleasant wet sounds that are a new harmony to the splashing water. Loki, too, releases little noises of pleasure, groans and hums that match their languor, their comfort. The warmth inside Thor is slow-burning and intense. He feels more alive under her fingertips than ever before.

When, and only when, Thor’s jaw starts to protest from overuse, he pulls back. The motion is fraught with hesitation and a lack of true conviction. Eyes closed, he rests his head back against the wall. Loki settles down to lie atop him, hands pillowing her head upon his clean chest. She sighs both out of content and something else.

“We’re leaving in the morning.”

Thor twines a lock of her damp hair around his index finger but otherwise remains motionless. “Where to?”

“To Thanos.”

His ears prick up and he glances down at Loki, only seeing her flattened, wet hair. Her reply startles him as he has grown so accustomed to rejection concerning the subject of The King Maker. “Why can’t we leave tonight?”

“You’re in no state to travel,” she mumbles and taps one pectoral pointedly in a gesture of discipline. “Whatever Amora slipped you is still there, and I’m not having you drive when you could black out again.”

Humming in defeat, Thor wraps his arms around her to squeeze her for a moment. He feels as if she was referring to her own wellbeing, but knows that somewhere, she is still concerned for him. It is only believable because of the terror upon her face he had seen that first moment he woke. “Thanos won’t run?”

“As far as he knows, you’re dead. And he’ll think I’m running away... so tomorrow is as good as ever.” She turns over, moulding her back to his body comfortably. Their feet press against the wall on the far side of the tub, Thor’s framing hers and he smiles at just how small she is in comparison. Flawless and white-skinned, he is suddenly struck with a memory of his grandmother’s beautiful china doll that she kept in a glass case in the drawing room. It was Victorian, aged but treasured, with rosy cheeks licked by chestnut curls under a blue bonnet. Though he had never been one for such things, he had been fascinated in his youth with its intricate delicacy; how anything could be made so perfectly formed, yet so small. His mother has it somewhere and he would like for Loki to see it. Perhaps she would like it like she does her tea service. As he loops his arms back around her waist, Thor thinks to himself just how much he would like for Loki and his Mother to meet.

Thor is barely able to catch himself before he falls too far into that madness. He blames it entirely on his near-death experience. It put things into perspective: the futility of life, and how maybe he is of the age now to settle down and start the next generation of A5G’s Odinsons.

The longer he thinks, the more they relax. Loki is not quite a deadweight on him, but her tiredness is growing more and more evident. And the water is no longer hot around them, only warm where they are submerged and hidden from the breeze that creeps in from the doorway.

“Early start tomorrow,” he mumbles by way of attempting to encourage them both to move. Loki only groans and grips onto his arms.The request to be carried barely leaves her lips and Thor is filled with eagerness - to again showcase his strength, and to protect her.... though he knows he really should just rationalise it as paying off part of the debt for whatever she did to save him from Amora’s poison.

Haphazardly, he stands, adjusting Loki in his arms until she is secure in a bridal hold. He leaves their dirty clothes in a pile in the corner and navigates the best clear path through the room to the bed. They all but fall into it,still soaking wet, but happy with each others’ warmth. Thor knows he is smiling like a fool, but he feels Loki’s lips similarly curved against his chest as she curls so tightly to him, holding on as if she expects him to vanish the moment she loosens her grip.

It is the most content Thor has felt in as long as he can remember. Odd, given the circumstances. In his arms he holds both his saviour and his tormentor, but she is soft and pliant in her exhaustion and allows herself to simply be his lover. He leans down to kiss her hair and resigns himself to sleep.

“I’m glad you’re alive.”

The words come so quietly, and he feels no brush of breath against his skin that Thor muses that he has simply dreamed them. But Loki’s fingers tighten momentarily around his sides, making him doubt that. His smile returns and he holds her closer. “Thank you.”

-

When he wakes, the bed is cool again, but there are sounds of movement around the bedroom. He rolls over and finds Loki taking his clothes from the wardrobe and neatly placing them back in his suitcase. The first thing he notices about her is that she wears his clothes: a dark blue shirt that all but swamps her. The shoulders are much too wide, sleeves too long making her look like a child. It falls to her thighs, though when she bends over it rides up to expose her knickers around her plump backside. They are red today, a colour he has never seen on her before but is nonetheless beautiful.

He can just reach her and cheekily smacks one cheek. She makes a sound too much like a squeak and immediately snaps her head round to glare at him - no doubt half for surprising her and half for causing that noise from her mouth.

“You’re obviously feeling better,” she says by way of greeting and Thor chuckles. As he pushes himself up to sit amongst the pillows, Loki leaves the trousers she had been folding and steps that little closer.

She stoops to kiss him, both slowly and deeply, pulling away with heavy eyes. “Good morning.”

One hand finds its way around the back of her neck, momentarily pulling her down for another, identical kiss. Thor knows that he wants nothing more of life than to do this every morning. He lets her go and she returns to packing. “Come back to bed,” he reaches out for her again.

She turns, holding something, face a mix of concern and bemusement. “You don’t remember much of last night, do you?”

When he thinks, he recalls things - flashes, words and feelings. A muddle he is unwilling to figure out so early on in the day. He cannot even bear to look at the clock, but the world outside is still grey. They are doing something today... he thinks he remembers Loki saying something... “Thanos,” he says the word as if tasting it and watches Loki, expecting her at any moment to distract him as she had the previous afternoon. But she nods in simple affirmation.

“But I thought you could do with a rest,” Loki continues, not looking at him as she transfers more belongings to his bag. “We have to return to my apartment before we go - I’m not going anywhere dressed like this.”

“I like it.”

A smirk quirks at her lips, hiding behind a curtain of unkept curls. She throws him a pair of boxers. “Get up, Thor. It’ll take a good three hours to get to Thanos’.”

Thor nods dutifully and stretches himself out. He slides his legs out from under the duvet, relishing the feeling of the firm floor when last night, even after the bath his hazy mind had made it feel like walking on shifting ground. “I thought you said he was in Europe or something?”

Stopping, Loki shrugs. Her hair keeps her face concealed.”As I said, I’m not his keeper.”

With a yawn, Thor stands; pulls on the underwear and makes his way to the bathroom. Loki has obviously made an attempt to clean up the mess of the previous night – there are towels on the floor and cleaning solutions beside them that she had probably acquired without permission. It makes him think of the situation of their meeting: that black-haired maid who had left his bed half-finished.

For the most part, Loki has also packed up his things in the bathroom. Everything is congregated neatly by his washbag and the clothes are gone. In here, it is almost like last night never happened. That that blonde woman had not tried to kill him; that Thanos did not know about them; that Loki had not saved his life. He can hear her humming to herself back in the bedroom and for a moment, Thor imagines that they are just a couple ending a long weekend. And come the end of the day, when Thanos is arrested or dead and Loki is free of his control, Thor would do all in his power to make that fantasy so.

When finished in the bathroom, Thor takes his final belongings and rejoins Loki in the bedroom. She adds the washbag to the now finished suitcase and sits on the bed patiently. Ankles crossed, she is posed elegantly when her very appearance is not. Face stripped bare of makeup, hair a tumble of naturally-dried curls and still wearing that poor excuse for a shirt, Thor smiles as he takes in the sight of her again, now awake. The first thing he does is stand right in front of her, knee to bended knee and strokes his hands along her cheeks and into her hair, angling her head up to him in the motion.

“Did I thank you last night?”

Those green eyes stare up at him, weary yet shrewd, unreadable in how Thor is not sure if it was simple bemusement in them, or whether that was a ruse to cover the concern that he seems to recall vividly. “You may have said words to that effect, yes.”

“Well,” he replies with a warm smile and tips her chin up with one fist – a perfect angle for their lips to meet in the softest, most chaste touch he could ever leave upon any woman and upon such a perfect, sinful mouth. “Thank you.”

Loki hums, as much a sound of enjoyment as it is of thought. She breaks contact but keeps close. “Get dressed, Thor.”

“Why? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Those lips twist in sardonic amusement. “We’ll hit the morning traffic if we don’t leave soon, and we’ll not get to Thanos today,” she still spoke smooth and gingerly into his mouth whilst her hands rubbed the defined line of muscle at his pelvis. “And I know how much you want to meet him.”

The truth she speaks is in no way as delectable as her lips but it is the promise of what can and will come after this day that steels Thor into pulling away and picking up the clothes that Loki had left on the bed beside her. They are dark and would be easy to move in should the need arise. He is ready quickly and does not bother to hide any eagerness.

\--

Loki had dressed as Thor has never seen her before. Black is a colour he is used to upon her frame, but not a suit more like those he has seen on American agents through the years. He has a suspicion that it is a two-piece ensemble rather than a catsuit, but Loki had been sure to keep him at an arm’s length, and now driving, Thor could not spare more than a glance at time.

In those glances, the silver of the blades Loki has armed herself with always catches his eye. They are tucked into the boots that cling up to her knees and fastened to her hips – and those are just the ones he can see. Not one gun though: she said she did not like such impersonal things. For practicality’s sake, she would make exceptions though.

And that had been about the last thing she said to Thor. As soon as they were back in the car from her preparations, she had punched a postcode into the navigation system and sat back, looking out of the window as she had done on their trip back from London.

“How heavily guarded is he?” Thor asks another question, determined to gain a response though the tone he uses is all but defeated. Whilst the information is important – though Thor does love rushing into things blindly to come out looking all the more victorious – the journey is dull without Loki’s voice to fill it. He had spent the previous night in a catatonic silence and wishes to never experience such a thing again.

“It depends,” she replies as she had been doing, flatly and succinctly. One more glance, and Thor can see how she is not even looking out of the window now, rather fastened to the fittings on the car door, lost in thought. The slight furrow to her brow in the reflection justifies such a robotic intonation. Thor wants to know, but does not know how to effectively ask, what is wrong. Perhaps it is further concern for him, or perhaps it is not. “If he’s expecting us, it could be anything between fifty and one hundred men. Maybe more.”

“And if he’s not?”

Shrugging, Loki starts to fidget with the chrome plating of the window control. “Up to thirty.”

“Will Amora be there?”

She turns to him, suddenly amused and curious. “Why? I didn’t take you for the type that goes for revenge.”

“I don’t,” Thor replies with pure honesty. He looks at Loki and offers a little warm smile. “But you do.”

For the first time in what seems like an age, Loki laughs. Not quite that genuine, endearing laugh that he had only heard a few times, but a laugh all the same. “Sadly, she despises Thanos as much as I and tries to avoid him as much as possible.”

The thought amuses Thor enough to scoff. Loki avoided Thanos enough to live over three hours away. They are only halfway into the journey and already Thor’s legs ache with the need to walk again. But the sooner they reach the target, the shorter he has to wait to run around A5G HQ letting anyone and everyone know that The Trickster is now no threat.

“How long have you wanted to be rid of him?” Thor asks moments later. He does so softly and with another quick turn of his head.

He sees Loki stiffen and he sees how those green eyes return to the car’s small features. “Long enough.” She has shut herself away again and he will be lucky if he gets another syllable out of her for the next ten miles.

Towards the end of the journey Thor has convinced himself that Loki is scared. An emotion she could not be much of a stranger to, this is how she must cope. To hide every part of her that is vulnerable; to hide any part of her that is human. When he reaches for her hand, she accepts him – even bringing it to her lips to press little kisses to his knuckles before replacing it on the wheel. To him, it seems like gratitude; a feline affection that cannot be put into words.

Thor cannot hide his surprise when their destination is on a main road, not ten miles outside of Derby city centre. On the left side of the road are large, black buildings belonging to all sorts of car manufacturers. He has never been here before, but driven past, and it is incomprehensible that Thanos could have been hiding here all along. He does not think for a moment that Loki has led him to the wrong place – she had saved his life, and whether it be stupid or not, he trusts her. The only defence he has left is keeping that revelation a secret from her.

“That one.” Loki points towards a building towards the back of the park

Unlike many of  the others, Thor does not recognise the signage upon it. It is just a blue cube with TT in the centre. He supposes that in a world where manufacturing is cheaper and new, independent car designers cater for small markets, a fake company could get away undetected.

“I’d suggest you park somewhere near Audi, if you want to be less... conspicuous,” there is a slight teasing to the corner of her mouth that he can see, and she strokes the very tips of her fingers delicately over the fine crafting of the dashboard. The same appreciative touch he had felt across every inch of his abdomen.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asks, chortling. And he knows that his amusement is up-played, wanting to shake away those last vestiges of fear that he can still find, staining her otherwise beautiful face.

“Like it or not, we’re going in through the back,” Loki quickly checks herself, clothes, blades and that her hair is under control, as Thor parks the car as she instructed. “I am not getting shot before we even make it into the lobby.”

Thor nods and reaches into the back to gather all the things he needs. The weight of firearms is comforting and reassuring. Loki watches every moment, hawkish eyes noting down every holster, every concealed weapon. When he is done, he shoots her a grin and they leave and lock the car.

Noise from the road filters through the industrial park and makes it a little hard to hear Loki, though he sees her lips move enough to understand that they would have to be sneaky. Even at the best of times, Thor struggled to be so. In the bright daylight of the late morning, he knows he looks ridiculous. But Loki, her lithe movements and fast, bird-like turns of her head, he finds stunning. She is as much in her element as she is in seducing, in making love. He would love to have her like this, silent and serious, and wants to tell her so but he knows that it is not the time.

There is a door before them now. A small, mostly-glass thing, more than likely a fire escape for unavoidable health and safety requirements. Loki busies herself with picking the lock. She does so quickly and slips inside, never once letting the door make a noise. Thor lets it close, holding it until the latch clicks back into place before grasping one handgun in a ready pose. Of all things, even with Loki’s assistance, he had not expected infiltration of such a place to be so easy. In the back of his head, he thinks perhaps Thanos had anticipated their strike, fearing exactly what Loki is capable of when pushed so far, and has withdrawn to someplace unknown. Loki is steadfast though, taking the lead down whitewashed corridors more like a hospital than a criminal’s retreat.

The place is flawless, and silent. CCTV cameras blink in high corners, each one destroyed by Loki’s quick fingers and impressive aim with her little throwing knives. They land to the lino floor with a clink that echoes only a few yards. She retrieves each one and constantly beckons Thor forwards. No smiles, no come-hither eyes of teasing like he expects.

The place is flawless, and unguarded. The realisation finally hits him when they reach a major junction in the corridors and there is no one, or any evidence of anyone, to be seen down each path. Not even footsteps from the floor above. Bored and complacent, Thor replaces his gun in its holster. Loki makes no remark, though surely she must have noticed him do so.

They continue on, going up to the second floor that looks exactly the same. There is no deliberation in Loki’s pace. She stops at each corner, poised ever-ready, expecting someone to be just round the bend. There never is. Corridors merge together into one endless labyrinth and Thor is amused in how Loki always seems to know exactly where to go.

She finally stops at a set of double doors, smiling over her shoulder at him before she pushes them open. He does not have enough time to ponder the meaning of the gesture as before them, a large man sits at a desk across the new room. He is large, almost impossibly so, dark-skinned and strong-jawed. Something about him does not quite look human, and instantly Thor knows that _this_ is Thanos. He goes to grab his nearest gun but a jarring pain shoots up the back of his legs and he is falling to the ground. His knees hit it hard, doubling the pain that stuns him. And though he releases a grunt, Loki walks away from him, towards Thanos like nothing had happened. Like she had not even noticed. Like this was all some sort of plan.

Just as Thor gathers his senses through the discomfort seconds later, someone kicks his frantic hand away from the holster it nearly touches and another grabs his arms, both yanking him up and restraining him. When he struggles against the hold, the cold buzz of cable ties settles tightly around his wrists. The muzzle of a gun presses unmistakeably against the nape of his neck.

“Thor Odinson,” Thanos stands. His voice is deep and resonates around the room, carrying an accent that he cannot place. “So nice to finally meet you.”

“Can’t say the same.” He retorts. His eyes flicker between Thanos and Loki’s back as she approaches the desk, and finally sits upon it. Legs crossed, she reclines back on her arms, as nonchalant as he has ever seen her. Perhaps her plan is to have Thanos lower his guard, so that she could stab him in the back as he taunts. But there are too many guards filling the room for such a move to be survivable for long.

Thanos’ thick lips curl upwards and he chuckles. “I admit, we _should_ have met sooner – after Loki got back from Moscow, in fact - but, she does so _love_ to play.” He twirls a lock of Loki’s hair around one finger and she blinks like a Persian, not at all repulsed by him as she had once claimed. “In a way, she spared your life. Albeit for a little while.”

He leans closer to her, murmuring something to which Loki nods and slides from her perch. She comes closer to Thor and he thinks that something will happen – she will fling those delicate blades into the throats of the guards that still hold him, and somehow they could fight their way through the dozen men around them to come out victorious.

His mind twists confusion, disorientation and betrayal into a haze that threatens a migraine. “Loki—”

She stands before him, face neutral as she reaches out. Her hands are ever-warm against his chest, languidly - purposefully - stroking to each holster, each concealed weapon. As soon as he realises what she is doing, Thor struggles. The guards press down on his shoulders, gripping his upper arms to steady him.

Her touch now burns, burns like the poison he can remember from the previous night. It infects him with the realisation that he should have always expected it to come, because everyone else did. Each word of Fandral and Sif – their emails and warnings, concerns – they scream in his ears before falling into silence.

“Now, now,” Loki coos, all eyes and smiles, “you’ve never objected to me undressing you before.”

“ _Trickster_.” Thor spits. For a second he thinks he sees hurt cloud her eyes, but it is swallowed by acid.

“What _did_ you expect, Thor?”

Watching, he glares, twisting his body to get away from her disarming hands. Each time he moves, the guards pull and bruise him. “I _helped_ you—”

“When?” Loki raises an eyebrow, all but yanking a knife from his belt. “ _That_ night?” and she laughs. It defiles the memory of all those sweeter sounding things he has heard from her lips. “Do you _really_ think any man could touch me without my permission?”

Thor frowns, surprised, confused and disbelieving. He had been so sure... so concerned.

“It was a _trick_ , Thor,” she replies, reading into his expression with an ease he once thought he too had. “It made you trust me, made you think I was just another little lamb in need of protection. And it was so _easy_.”

Loki takes each weapon away, placing them upon Thanos’ desk and retaking her own position beside them. He glares at the two of them. Thanos does not pet her and give her a treat like Thor sardonically anticipates. But the man turns to her and with a sharp gesture, dismisses her. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Loki is surprised and reluctant to oblige, sliding down like a sulking child, but she walks past Thor, reaching out to touch his face in a mockery of the tenderness she once pretended. “It was fun.”

“It was _nothing_.” Thor bites back and the words taste of acrid mud. They burn his tongue.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Loki sneers before strutting out of the room. Thor turns to watch her as much as he could under the restraint of two men. Some part of him foolishly, foolishly, still expects a change in the situation. The door closes and with the click of the latch comes a hefty kick in the ribs.

He doubles over, gasping and coughing. Thanos comes closer, head tilted, almost smiling. “She really had you, didn’t she?” something like wonder, like bemusement, colours his voice. “Quite pathetic.

“She _asked_ to be given this assignment.”

Thor listens though all sounds are stained red. Information, explanations are worthless. Every part of him focuses on formulating a plan, to stay alive and to win. This battle may not see him the victor, but Thor will not accept defeat. He will not accept death.

“Your precious A5G is the reason she’s an orphan, didn’t you know? She was so eager for revenge, so _eager_ to kill the son of the bastard that killed her father.”

Thor’s head jerks up, face twisted in displeasure, though his mind is bitterly confused. “Do not insult my father—”

Thanos laughs dryly and backhands Thor suddenly, to silence him and probably just to amuse himself. The two guards drop Thor and step back, allowing their superior room to continue. “If you want to live a little longer, Odinson, you’d best not annoy me.”

Picking himself up, Thor rolls onto his knees. He will remain strong until the flesh is torn from his bones, rendering him incapable of moving. “This won’t end with me. Someone will finish you.”

“ _And_ Loki?” Thanos asks with a sharp curve to one side of his mouth.

For a moment, Thor ponders. In the back of his head, he finds that there are many questions he wants to ask her, reasons and justifications because he still believes – his fantasies inheriting his stubbornness – he can change her. His hesitation finally amuses the large man enough that he laughs again.

“You entertained her, I’ll say that much,” Thanos reaches out and seizes Thor’s jaw in one hand. “Now it’s my turn. And I won’t be as gentle,” he pulls and Thor struggles, jerking in vain before being thrown back down to the floor.

Again, Thor rolls himself back into a measure of decorum, glaring up at Thanos as he approaches again.

“Does it hurt to be betrayed?”

When he does not reply, Thanos snorts and kicks him in the shoulder. Pain flares as Thor is propelled backwards, hitting the wall a few feet behind him. He grunts and rights his position, nothing more. He has encountered men like Thanos before, volatile and domineering: he searches for reactions and when they are denied, lose interest.

That is Thor’s plan. Each question’s silence is rewarded in a strike of increasing brutality. He only hopes he can live through Thanos’ temper.

In the end, Thor doubts his own vitality. Every part of his body aches. He can taste blood; see it upon his skin and on the floor. His chest throbs with bruised or broken ribs and his head feels as light as it had under the effects of the poison.

Vision blurring, he wonders if he will ever see another day. He finds himself thinking of Loki for the second time in such a moment. In fleeting consciousness that fades into darkness, he is possessed with the urge that before he is swallowed up by whatever looms just beyond this, he wants to ask her why. And he wants to know... if it really did all mean nothing.

\--

In the darkness, Thor can hear footsteps approaching. He has no idea how long he has been where he is – wherever he is – but it is not the room in which he finally lost consciousness under Thanos’s fists. The room is much smaller and the tiles he sits on are cold in a way that ground floors or basements tend to be. His wounds ache less than he remembers they did when fresh. Perhaps they had healed, or perhaps the faint smell of antisceptic in the air has something to do with it. All Thor knows is that he has been alone since he woke up and that the footsteps take a long time to get close.

Instead of fear or anxiety, it is anger that seizes him; a confused, desperate rage that denies insecurity that makes him pull at his binds. He knows those footsteps are Loki’s. The sharp click of heels on tile and the feline measure of the gait assure him of that. He can imagine the sway of her hips, the curve to her lips and how those raven curls bounce around her face.  Her beauty, the iridescent scales of a viper, the sleek majesty of a leopard. Misleading. Lying.

If only he could free one hand to wrap around her throat, to see if she was honest in the face of Death.

He has had long enough to think over every moment he can of her. Each look he ponders, her touches and words; the very way she had acted around him. After her supposed molestation, how she had clung to him. Loki had made sure that Thor was trapped under the thumb, believing truly in her vulnerability. The mistake was stupid, and remains so, because Thor still cannot believe it just a ruse. She had been so delicate...

Answers are needed. But Thor could never trust himself enough to hold a conversation and keep in control of his own reactions. Especially with someone like Loki who unsettles and distorts him with a single glance.

Lights flash on in the room, but behind his blindfold, all Thor sees is motley grey. He can just make out the shape of Loki but she does not become any clearer as she walks forward. Thor swears she kneels in front of him. He can smell liquorice so strongly. It is like he is a child again, because the scent makes his stomach twist. It is not quite the sickness of youth, but that bewilderment. Why had she betrayed him? Should he hate her?

He knows he should And he tries. It is the right thing to do.

“Close your eyes,” Loki says and Thor is preparing to shoot something at her until he feels her fingertips at the edge of the cloth that covers his face. They are the touch of petals... but they had been before, when he thought that perhaps she felt something for him. He obeys her without remark for his own sake.

It still stings as she pulls the blindfold away and slowly, Thor cracks his eyes open. The white is blinding. He only hears Loki stand again and seems to pull a chair from somewhere in the room. When his sight returns to him, still somewhat seared at the edges, she is neatly sat on a steel chair before him, legs crossed with her hands on her lap. She is so disgustingly nonchalant.

A tiny frown takes to her face. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

Thor sneers so bitterly he can taste it on his tongue. It is different to dried blood; much more satisfying. He feels power again. And he laughs as Loki averts those acrid green eyes. “I look upon a traitor,” Thor replies, spitting out the words and seeing how Loki flinches. It is hard not to relish it, adding it to the list of charges he wishes to press her for. “I look upon Thanos’ _dog_ , his _bitch_ , doing his bidding for scraps.”

He expects Loki to snap, but when she does, it is not verbally and exposes something Thor does not quite expect. She looks wounded by what he says. It could be an act, knowing better now than to take whatever she does at face-value. The biting pain of the cable ties around his wrists and lingering wounds warn him not to fall for that again. That expression of hers is gone in a second, replaced with a marble-cold fury.

“Yes,” she hisses and springs to her feet with the liquid ease of a striking mantis; sending the chair clattering backwards. “I cheat and lie and kill for scraps,”

“And you betray… for fun?”

Thor’s jaw tenses as her hand grasps it. He doubts she has the strength to truly bruise him, but those elegant fingers will leave red marks under his beard long after she goes. He wonders why she is even here. Surely someone as smart as her would know better than to search for sympathy were there was no such thing. Or perhaps she has come to give him those answers.

Her eyes stare hard into his, almost mirroring. But Thor can see something under it, like her eyes were just glass, reflecting his emotions and not quite hiding her own. There is also conflict. And concern. As much as he tries to ignore it and tries to remind himself that everything about her is just an act, he cannot.

“I’m the _Trickster_ , Thor,” Loki says. Her voice is smoother, quieter. “I play everyone. I tricked both you and Thanos into believing I’d betrayed you,” Thor frowns and tries to tilt his head in confusion but her hold remains strong and her eyes lifelessly oblivious.

“Loki—” Thor starts quietly as she takes a moment to blink. But as soon as she parts her lips again, he falls silent.

“What Thanos said is true – your father did kill mine. But I did not want revenge like he has led you to believe. From what I hear, my father was a truly horrid man... I just...” she trails off to a heavy silence. Green eyes echo memories that Thor does not want her to recall in that instinct of protectiveness that still possesses space within his heart.

“I just... wanted revenge for my childhood,” she said at last, and again, all her lips do for a moment is move. Move to words she cannot quite form. Her eyes lose any semblance of a  hard edge; ice melts to reveal a disconcerting softness. Softness that in turn, reflects in the hold of her fingers. They stroke along his jawline now in a gesture Thor remembers from the afterglow of their sex. That later, gentler, more intimate sex. “but I... I wasn’t expecting _you_. I tried to trick myself into believing that I could manipulate you, toy with you... and not... fall in love with you.”

“And when did you come to  _that_ conclusion?” he asks, both curious and sceptical. His voice comes out a little stronger and accusatory than he really desired and it makes Loki’s expression falter with hurt once more.

“I don’t know, Thor. I don’t know.”

Thor tries to ignore the hopelessness in her very being. He tries to avoid that in her, he sees the very same confusion that he recognises in himself. He tries to deny the hope that glitters like the facets of an emerald in her eyes. He tries to crush the need deep within him to see her laugh and smile again because it is the _right_ thing to do.

He hopelessly fails to convince himself of her insincerity and thinks of how he wants to hate the thought of her like his colleagues do because it is so much easier and uncomplicated than what is seemingly the truth. He pulls at his hands as if the change in Loki means a change in the situation. His fingers ache to curl under her chin to angle her gaze back up from where it has fallen to the floor, to see, to somehow know, if she speaks the truth because his gut is telling him so. But common sense has one question remaining.

“How can I trust you?” it comes out more acerbic than he really intends again and Loki winces. She moves back and picks up the fallen chair to perch on the very edge of it. She does not look at him.

“The best liars know when to tell the truth,” she replies flatly, and Thor just stares at her, unimpressed. He is far from the mood for her riddles and games in such turbulence. “And because… I _do_ trust you.”

The proclamation should not stun Thor as much as it does. He has uttered no lies to her, and has been nothing but up-front with his actions, but he knows the type of person Loki is – he thinks he does anyway. She is a cat, abused in youth and all she knows is fear and puts on a façade to cover that.

To _trust_ means to offer up every weakness, every chink in her armour for that person to exploit. For Loki, she feels apprehension like Thor is able to destroy her, yet he cannot completely comprehend the idea he possesses that power over her from simple _trust_. Unless she truly _does_ mean she loves him. It is the only explanation for the fear in her features. The fear he recognises from those first few moments he woke from Amora’s poison.

“I— _Loki_ ,” Thor murmurs, lost for those words that desert him normally. He is an idiot. He can hear the sigh of everyone he knows in his ear but he does not care. Because he wants to believe Loki, and he wants to think that out of everyone in the world, he is the only one to know her. If it gets him killed, then it would be no change from the path he finds himself on now. “Loki, look at me,”

She does so at the gentleness of his voice and moves closer slowly. Just like a cat finding its feet again.

“Free me and we’ll kill Thanos,” Thor turns to present his back and his bound hands. He feels Loki’s hands tentitively touch his wrists, finding the cable ties and seeing if she can loosen them.

“It started out as _fun_ ,” Loki leans over his back and whispers into his ear. Despite what she says, her voice is so tender she could be saying nothing but words of love. Thor does shiver, clenching his fists tighter. “But then I came to realise, you can give me the one thing Thanos never could. The one thing I want more than control.”

“And what is that?” Thor asks quietly. He can feel that the cable ties are not budging. Loki withdraws her hands and over his shoulder, Thor sees her take a switchblade from one boot.

She does not reply as she carefully cuts through the black plastic before casting it to the side. Even as she stands, she remains silent.

Thor turns to her, staring up expectantly. “Loki?”

“Get up,” she waves one hand dismissively and spins on her heel to face the door again. “We have to get you armed and finish this before he realises you’ve gone.”

As Thor pushes himself to his feet, he notices how Loki is shaking. He frowns but when he opens his mouth to speak, she trots off down the corridor. Thor hurries after her, grabbing her hand at the first opportunity he has. Her face covers her fear well, but she still curls her fingers around his.

“What can I give you, Loki?”

Loki’s lips twist but she shakes her head, disparaging his insistence. She looks at him like he is a stubborn child, seeking needless praise, or pestering for something ridiculous.

“Freedom?” he asks quietly.

She laughs sharply. “I can find freedom in death.”

Thor is about to make another guess when Loki presses one finger to his lips and shoves him back against the wall. From the junction up ahead come heavy footsteps. Two guards round the corner and spot the two of them immediately. Before they can raise their guns, Loki lashes out and the bodies hit the floor. Thor did not even see her _reach_ for knives, let alone aim them, yet they shine sharp and silver in each man’s windpipe.

Loki ducks to retrieve them and wipes them clean on the guards’ black uniforms. “We have just under ten minutes,” she says flatly. “I’d like to hit Thanos before he has time to prepare or disappear. ”

Thor takes the handgun from one guard’s gloved hand and the other that remains holstered at one hip. He stands back up and turns to continue down the corridor, but Loki is right before him, with that soft, scary look back in her eyes.

“Whatever happens, whatever I _do_ ,” she starts and both her hands cup around his face, keeping his eyes focused on that honesty he can see in hers. “Never doubt that I love you.”

Grabbing her waist in one hand, Thor yanks her flush to him and presses a hard kiss to her mouth. It is a messy contact and their noses collide, but it does not matter. She tastes different now that those words have come from her; a much, much sweeter liquorice that he finds himself starving for. There is a smile upon his face as he pulls away, just to kiss her again chastely, assuring his affection.

When he tries to withdraw, Loki does not let him. One arm hooks around his neck, keeping him close and angled just right that their kiss is deep and consuming once more. He barely notices the brush of her other arm moving around his waist. Something hard and cold is in her hand and she slips it into the belt loops at the small of his back. Only when it is a secure weight does she return her hands to his cheeks and move back enough to smile.

“A gift. You’ll need it.”

Reaching behind himself, Thor finds it is a simple blade – one of the pair she kept fastened at her waist. “Alright,” Thor breaths out, stealing another kiss, utterly smitten.

Taking her hand once again, they run down the maze of white corridors to find The King Maker.

Unlike before, guards patrol the long corridors. The ones they cannot sneak past find themselves with snapped necks or blades in their throats. Loki is more ferocious than Thor thought he could imagine. Determination stalks her every step and she needlessly beckons him on.

Soon, they reach those double doors. No guards are posted at them. Thor pushes them open this time, immediately seeing the top of Thanos’ head over his chair. There are no windows to gaze out of, just a white-washed wall. Holding up his right arm, Thor aims to take a shot but Loki silently directs against it with her hand on his wrist. He glances at her, confused.

“ _That_ took longer than expected.”

The second he snaps his head back to Thanos, Loki knocks the gun from his hand. It flies across the room and hits the wall. He blindly goes to grab the spare he had stolen, but Loki gets it first. She makes no remark, no smirks, but a stern silence that does not suit her. Her eyes are so different from before, when she had tricked him. There is no spite, no malice, but the echo of what she had said in the corridor. And also a warning. Nothing convinces him more of her loyalty to him than the weight of the knife she gave him remaining against his back. That is not something she would have forgotten, and she makes no move to take it from him. She even takes a few steps backwards, towards her former master.

“You just couldn’t resist one more play, could you?” Thanos chortles and the chair spins around. He is shirtless, looking very much like a heavyweight boxer. In the lights, his skin has a sheen to it; muscles twitch in anticipation.

Thor understands enough from Loki’s expression and how it contrasts from her body language – that Thanos could see – to not expose any part of what he guesses is her plan. He lunges, as if going for the gun again, but Loki cocks and aims it at his chest. The mock-threat stills him instantly. From somewhere deep down inside, a sickness bubbles from doubt, but he does not listen to it. She said she loves him.

“As you wanted, Thanos.” Loki turns to the man and smiles such sweetness. “Try not to bruise his face, it’ll be such a waste.”

So, that was her plan. Thanos would again beat him, but this time Thor would have the ace up his sleeve. Her knife - to be pulled at the opportune moment. She would perhaps even aid from the sidelines, in this room devoid of additional, hostile protection. Or perhaps she would not, sitting back at watching two stags fight with the enjoyment she so seemed to experience when Thor demonstrated his strength for her.

Thanos looks between the two of them. His elbows rest upon the desk and he steeples his fingers, tapping them in a gesture of thought. “I’ve changed my mind,” he says, smirking to himself. “I want you to kill him instead.”

Somehow, Loki manages to keep the colour to her face and turns to the man in surprise. “Me?” she echoes, lowering the gun she was still holding towards Thor. “But you—”

“I’ve had my fun with him. Now _you_ can have your revenge.”

The tone to his voice is something Thor cannot miss. It feels like steel, oppressive and unavoidable. It feels like a threat, too, is hidden in there. Whatever it is, Loki understands and she averts her eyes to the ground. From the distance between them, Thor can only just make out the weight to her gaze, that same haze that had overcome her when she had told him of her childhood.

As Loki raises the weapon again, her hand is shaking. Those eyes though, bleed such awful sentiment, such _pain_ that for a moment, Thor thinks she will shoot him—

And then she does. The sound hits him first. Pain crashes into him moments later when the shock fades like the smoke of a burnt out candle. His back hits a wall, either propelled backwards from the shot or he collapsed against it. Warmth dribbles down his flesh, blood, though his black clothes absorb any colour. Thor presses his right hand against the wound, both inflicting further pain and stopping the bleeding.

“His _shoulder_ ,” Thanos remarks flatly, thoroughly unimpressed.

Through the burning haze of adrenaline and agony, Thor looks up and sees Loki turn to Thanos and shrug. “You know I’m not good with guns.”

The man rises from his chair, dwarfing Loki with his revealed musculature. He rounds on her, turning and completely concealing her from Thor’s line of sight. His shoulders are much too wide, and it is only when he raises one arm that he sees Loki’s wide, terrified eyes.

“You’ve tried to trick me for the last time, Loki,” Thanos growls. His large hand wraps around her throat, completely lifting her off the ground. Never before had she looked so pale, so small. He strips Loki of her accessible weapons with rough jerks, not caring that he tears the clothes she wears. “You think I didn’t see you talking?”

Her lips twist around words she cannot even gasp. They are meant to be excuses, no doubt. Slender hands claw at that dark wrist and when she tries to kick him, he slams her back against the wall.

“Should I let you watch me kill him first?” Thanos purrs to her. “Or should he watch me rape you?”

He must squeeze his fingers because she releases a choked moan, so pained and afraid. Thor grits his teeth, holding back his own groans, and removes his hand from the bulletwound. He finds the pommel of Loki’s knife and yanks it free. It slips in his blood-sodden fingers but he clasps tightly to it, concentrating on the hardness of the metal rather than his pain.

At the best of times, he is not good with blades. He always used to find them archaic and far too dainty. He has always liked heavy things that would make an awful mess and destroy rather than a clean, quick kill. But he has no time to reflect upon his own failings when Thanos slams Loki back into the wall again like the doll she resembles. He bites his tongue as he sees that other large hand wander on her body.

Thor channels every ounce of protectiveness and love he has for her into his good arm. For her, he wants this blade to fly true. The odds are against him, with his strength seeping down his left arm evermore, but that had never stopped him trying. For her, he will. He will win.

Taking his aim, Thor throws the blade. It spins in the air, glinting red and silver in the lights before it lodges deep into Thanos’ flesh. The man lets out a primal howl. Loki falls into a gasping and coughing pile of porcelain and black. Thor’s eyesight is too stained for him to see exactly where the knife had struck. Then Thanos collapses. The thud is heavy enough that Thor can feel it across the room. The world turns sideways and pain shoots anew up Thor’s arm. He moans, pressing his hand back against the wound.

“You bastard,” he hears Loki’s raw voice spit. Barely able to focus, he can just make out her movement, far from svelte but like a leopard with a wounded paw, taking a hold of something and stabbing Thanos with it at least five times. Each time, she curses at him with such burning, angry passion.

The next thing Thor knows, he is being moved. His head settles upon a warm lap, and his shirt is being cut open. That liquorice scent is as comforting as his mother’s honeysuckle perfume; Thor looks up and her face is awash with tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she breaths. Against his flesh, her fingers are shaking, moving fast to bind his wound tightly. It numbs the pain a little, slowing the bleeding. “I’m so sorry.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yes, Thor,” she replies and glances over to that large, dark shape on the floor by the desk. “He’s dead.”

“Good,” he rumbles and wearily lifts his right hand towards her. He can make out the red bruising to her neck and fingers lightly at it before awkwardly stroking her cheek. The colour of blood is much deeper than any flush he has seen on her before, yet nonetheless beautiful. “You’re safe.”

She grasps at his hand, holding it tightly and pressing her lips to it. She smiles, chuckling, “Don’t talk like a fool,” the strain of it is endearing, filling Thor with the warmth of love where the lack of blood had left him cold. “You’re not going to die. I promised to kill you in your sleep, did I not?”

Releasing a little chuckle of his own, Thor drops his hand back down to his side. Gingerly, Loki manoeuvres him to sit up and hoists her arms under his shoulders to try and lift him. Just like before, under the effects of the poison, the act is ridiculously complex and they both have to lean against the nearest wall to catch their breath.

\--

After picking their way past the bodies of the guards they left on their way to Thanos and Loki disposing of any who remained, she places him gently in the passenger seat of an unlocked car just outside the building. There is a strong scent of cigarette smoke and cologne that tells him Loki is stealing, but it is one crime he can condone. The R8 is too far for them to hobble towards, and - more importantly, he thinks with a light-headded smile - he does not want to get blood on the leather.

Loki buckles him in before dashing around to the driver’s side. She stares at the wheel for a moment like she does not know how to drive. “Where am I going?”

A hospital is out of the question. A gunshot wound would attract too much attention and Fandral would kill him for unnecessary complications. And he would not know what ramifications Loki could suffer, with her obvious bruises and shot residue on her hands. “A5G have a base the other side of town.”

Without saying anything, Loki swiftly leaves the industrial park. She does not exceed the speeding limit once and stares sombrely through the windscreen. Her hands still shake and her breathing is quick and irregular. Thor watches the city pass them by, clutching at his shoulder and wincing whenever a bump in the road feels like someone poking at the wound.

“They’ll all be after me now.”

Thor turns his head, groaning as the skin pulls tight, looking at Loki with furrowed brows. “Thanos’ men?”

She shakes her head slowly, smiling dismissively. “The Americans, the Russians, Germans, _everyone_ ,” she pauses, no doubt crushed under the gravity of what they have done. “Thanos was a cage... but also a sanctuary. No one would touch me under his wing.”

“We can protect you,” Thor hears the words before he even knew he spoke them. They seem to surprise Loki just as much as she glances at him in disbelief. She must think him mad to even think for a moment that it would be possible. A5G would never allow it, yet, Thor knows that he would never let that stop him from trying.

“Rest. The pain’s getti--”

“My father will grant you immunity, Loki.”

She glances again, blankly. He can also read something like resentment, as if her earlier dening of revenge as a motive was simply not aimed at Thor, but his father. “At what price?”

“Stay with me.” he replies.

She hums as if considering it. Thor reaches to take her bloodied hand, squeezing it tenderly. “I can give you _everything_ , Loki. If you let me.”

“Your price _is_ steep,” she sighs, “but, you have yourself a deal.” Her lips curve to a smile and she twines their fingers together, able to drive the automatic with one hand.

“Promise?” he rubs his thumb across her knuckles, gingerly, like stroking a cat to get purrs.

“I _promise_.”

In that moment, Thor’s pain seems to vanish under elation. His dreams of the last few weeks having their birth... he wonders if he will wake up soon and find himself back on Zakynthos, but another speedbump jolts like wildfire in his shoulder, affirming his consciousness; the reality of Loki, here and in love with him.

He smiles, wanting to kiss her again. But he sits patient and proper. He will kiss those red lips sore when they reach the base. And when he is healed, he will take her back to London and have her as slowly and softly as they had never made love before. Then he will take her to his father; gain her pardon and spend the rest of his life with the most dangerous creature he could imagine.

\--

Thor wakes up in the medical centre sometime after surgery. It is nearly midnight, if the clock on the wall opposite is correct. The lights above are dimmed and hum loudly. He turns his head, noting how the motion did not hurt anything when his shoulder is tightly bandaged and painkillers are working their magic. He notices how he is alone. There is no coat, no evidence of Loki on the chair beside his bed, or indeed anywhere in the room. There is not even a hint of her scent where he had become so used to it. He sucks in air just to be sure, but is only rewarded with the quickening bleeps of the heart monitor.

After a few minutes  his mind taking much longer than usual to process things – he starts to think that maybe A5G had arrested Loki, not knowing of their unofficial agreement on the way here. He struggles to remove the IV from his good hand, swinging his legs down to the floor and somehow managing to trigger an alarm in doing so. A white-clad nurse bursts in seconds later, flustered and skittish.

“Mr. Odinson!” she cries, “Get back and rest.”

“Where’s Loki?” he counters sternly, not stopping getting up in his determination.

The nurse hurries to his bedside, pushing his good shoulder back down and checking that the IV is still in place. “The lady?” she asks “She left whilst you were in recovery. Strange, really, considering how worried she was when the bullet was being removed.”

“She...left?”

“Yes,” the nurse said with an air of confusion when Thor suddenly become pliant to her insistence. What she said comes like a kick in the gut, defeating Thor. She had left him... disappeared again, no doubt. Would he see her again? Insecurities were fed by the drugs, making him feel even more sickly. Someone like Loki would be afraid of love... giving into it, up to it. Perhaps she was even concerned for his safety. What he would not give to hold her and call it all silly.

“She left something for you though,”

Thor looks at the nurse as she digs around in her uniform pocket. Her hand comes out holding a very familiar gold-lustre card. Thor takes it in his good hand, flicking it open and drinking in the sight of Loki’s handwritten words. They are beautiful, and he can hear her voice forming them. Not her usual cadence, but that smoother purr that had woken him that lazy morning in London. He remembers when he had picked its twin from between Loki’s breasts – that decision he had made in that moment changing their lives forever. Brushing his thumb against the message, Thor allows himself to smile. His judgement that day had been correct, too. Loki is a bad penny and would never leave him alone. And he would have her no other way.

_Rest assured, this liar never goes back on her word._

_Love, L_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue will follow. Thanks for reading!


End file.
